The Wizard and the Wyrm
by Demus
Summary: It is a well known fact that dragons take the loveliest of ladies to be their prisoners...so how exactly did this legendary, and surprisingly-charming, fire-breather end up with a foul-mouthed, half-metal wizard in his castle? A Fullmetal fairy tale, au
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist

* * *

Long ago, in a land far, far away, these things happened.

The ancient kingdom of Amestris sprawled rolling green and lazy beneath a cheerful, charming sun. It was a peaceful and prosperous land, ruled by a King who was unstinting in his labours, and guarded from multifarious monstrous creatures by a veritable phalanx of armoured knights and wily mages. Its people were merry sorts on the whole, given more to laughter and song than frowns and shouting. From the sturdiest castle to the ricketiest farmstead, from the most fertile fields to the richest planes, Amestris was a beautiful kingdom.

And yet…behind every fairy-story façade is a pointy-faced puppet master, a dwarf who spins straw into tax-free gold or a hunch-backed crone distributing apples to gullible young women. For every Knight there is a Dragon, for every Wizard there is a Sorceror, because fables are a matter of balance, fairer than any marketplace scales, and without shadow, one would never appreciate the true beauty of light. Life is not so simple as Black and White, but the Grey stories fade and falter like a sputtering candle flame buried in ashes, so it is chessboard stories of Good and Evil that continue to whisper in human memory. The tallest tales are held up by the tallest towers, the heights of fantasy soar furthest from the backs of winged, fire-breathing beasts, and without swords and blood and flame, there would be no happily ever after.

So even in this perfect storybook land, a Knight and his Princess were separated and a White Mage and a Black Sorcerer became locked in a conflict that was something like the old, old stories. And that is to say nothing of the Dragon.

* * *

The aimless, sky-tripping flight of a lone crow spiralled, through air that smelt faintly of fables, over the leafy green canopy of a verdant belt of forest. Thick and lush, flourishing ancient and lusty in fertile, rain-rich soil, trees as old as time stood their collective vigil over the land that had always been theirs. Life rustled and chattered through branches and over tree roots, a baffling myriad of wildlife. Undisturbed by human habitation, the mighty woods swayed with the breezes of the world, echoing its resonances through gnarled bark and whispering leaves. Its quiet was organic- that is to say, not very quiet at all.

And yet, even this pretence at silence was ruptured by voice, the voices of the first human voyagers through the forest in nearly fifty years.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Come on, don't be stingy, _please_?"

"Nope."

"I'll shut up for the whole journey, I swear I will, you won't hear another peep out of me, I'll seal my mouth closed and oil your armour and groom your horse, just _please_?"

"…"

"Little brother?"

"No."

"GODDAMNIT, WHEN THE HELL DID YOU TURN INTO SUCH A JACKASS? IS YOUR HELMET TOO DAMN SMALL THAT YOUR BRAIN STAVRED OF OXYGEN AND DIED? WHAT HAPPENED TO RESPECTING YOUR ELDERS?"

The Knight gave a weary sigh. "I think you mean 'respecting your betters', Brother."

Sheer _rage_ held his travelling companion in a spluttering, flailing incompetence for half a minute, then the Mage's staff began to glow white with energy. _"What did you say?"_ the spellcaster hissed, his long blond hair making an amusing attempt to stand on end, though the sheer weight of it meant that simply made him look like an angry, fluffed-up kitten.

Armoured gauntlets clinked as the Knight patted his horse's neck, soothing the beast though it had grown long accustomed to such outbursts. "We've been through this a hundred times," Sir Alphonse of Elric patiently explained. "Over such a long distance, Kitty can carry either the baggage or the two of us. Since the bags are incapable of walking and we need them to survive, you're just going to have to keep your legs moving."

His older brother pouted in a way that was most unbecoming of a Mage of the Quicksilver Order. "Bet I could make them walk."

"Yes, and we all remember the time you enchanted the tent so _very_ thoroughly that it wandered off _whilst we were sleeping in it_. No, Brother, you are going to walk and Kitty is going to carry. The End."

Edward of Elric, the illustrious (hoping one day to be 'the legendary') Fullmetal Mage kicked savagely at a rock lying in his way, then stumbled over a protruding tree root in a fine example of cosmic karma. "Stupid horse has a dumb name anyway."

Alphonse sighed again, reaching up to lower his visor a little- dealing with his tempestuous older brother was beginning to give him a headache. He, too, was exhausted by their day of travel, but the amount of ground they had managed to cover was heartening. "You realise that we wouldn't have to have set off before dawn if you hadn't set the innkeeper on fire?"

The quick temper flared. "If he didn't want to be roasted, he should have kept his stupid-ass remarks to himself!" the Mage snarled. "Who was he calling so small he could swim in a pint glass?"

"No one, Brother, he only wanted to know whether you required a stool to reach the bar comfortably."

"He was still an asshole. And I stopped the fire as quick as I could, didn't I?"

"By turning his entire stock of ale into water and flooding the inn with it?"

A shrug. "It worked. I don't know why he was so upset, that stuff tastes of piss anyway."

Alphonse wondered if perhaps the Order had been a little hasty in granting his brother a 'sane and licensed to practise magic' certification.

A low grunt signalled that Edward was going to give him the silent treatment, as punishment for his insubordination. Alphonse didn't particularly mind- the quiet would make a pleasant change, and Edward's anger was never self-sustaining enough to overcome his boredom for long. His mind was eternally restless, the price he paid for his genius, and in truth he was ill-suited for a life of endless, monotonous travel and brief episodes of excitement. It was only the promise of a seriously _dangerous_ quest that could wrest him from the libraries of the capitol city and the excitement of his magical study. Plus, at home there were always willing idiots for Edward to practice his magic against. Alphonse was beginning to consider whether the so-called 'duelling' that his big brother engaged in was a result of academic curiosity, as Edward liked to describe it, or a ridiculous wizardly game of one-upmanship, instigated by Edward himself goading his potential competitors into senseless fury.

At least it kept him occupied. An unoccupied Fullmetal Mage was a far more terrifying prospect.

This point was hammered home when the staff was extended towards him again, this time with a speculative, rather than threatening, air. "Al," Edward began, carefully, "do you think if I concentrated really, _really_ hard, I could change your armour into a dress?"

Alphonse yelped, scrambling to get out of his brother's reach as fast as he could without letting go of Kitty's reins. "No!" he squeaked, fully aware that Edward was completely capable of the task, with or without Alphonse's compliance.

Raucous laughter erupted from the wizard. The Knight huffed at him, his large grey eyes, usually light with joy when they beheld his beloved brother, narrowed in irritation. "That was mean."

"And hilarious! Oh, your _face!_" Edward was now doubled up, clutching weakly at his stomach, his face bright red. His voice tailed off into further laughter.

Alphonse snapped his visor down to hide a smile. It wouldn't do to let his brother's sheer, childlike enjoyment drag him out of a promising sulk. "If I didn't like you so much, I'd stab you," he told the other, only half in jest.

"Hah, I'd like to see you get close enough, iron-arse! I could melt that sword right out of your hand before it was halfway out the scabbard!"

"Hm, but not before I'd used it to turn your pointy stick into splinters. We're a bit low on firewood, actually…"

"_Don't you even dare."_

"Yes, Brother."

For a few paces, the only sound that could be heard was the clopping of Kitty's hooves.

"Al?"

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't ever _really_ change your armour into a dress."

"I know."

"You need it to keep all your squishy bits protected when you're off being noble and slaying foul beasts and saving peasant villages."

"I appreciate your concern for my squishy bits," Alphonse responded, dryly. "Besides…the Princess made me this," he muttered, flushing bright red beneath his helmet.

His brother quieted at that. "Yeah." After a pause, he reached out to clap his hand against the shiny breastplate. "Yeah, she did…Wouldn't want her to kill me with her anvil if she found out I messed with it."

It was Edward's way of apologising- you had to listen to the tone, not the words, and attribute as much meaning as possible to the gesture. Alphonse patted Kitty, choosing not to respond to his brother. After nineteen years, they had a near-perfect understanding of each other.

The rest of the day passed in companionable quiet. That is, until Edward contrived to fall into a pond. His little brother chose to keep walking- after inflicting some sort of deadly revenge upon the tree root that tripped him, the Mage would find a way to catch up.

* * *

Nightfall found the travellers pitching their tent in a sheltered glade, working by the light of a small fire built by Alphonse and lit by Edward. As the former unburdened and fed Kitty, he listened, with concealed humour, to the latter attempting to tackle the tent. Unfortunately, the summer was waning towards autumn and steadily decreasing nocturnal temperatures meant that it was just too cold to sleep without some sort of cover. Edward had been forbidden from any canvas-related wizardry since the walking tent incident, so now he was left to battle against the fiendish thing with just his hands and his wits.

_Or half-wits_, Alphonse thought, uncharitably, as Edward cursed for the eighth time and fixed the white material with a baleful glare.

"Brother!" he called, hoping to prevent a tantrum. "Could you give me a hand with-?"

Before he had the chance to finish, Edward was already at his back, reaching up to undo the various straps and buckles that trapped Alphonse in his, admittedly lighter than combat gear but still heavy, travelling armour. The younger sighed, happily. He was well-used to the weight, but that didn't stop its eventual removal being something of a relief. The unavoidable clatter of each piece shifting into place sounded loud in the quiet, juxtaposed against the eternal, restless rustle of the forest.

"You shouldn't wear this all day," Edward scowled into his taller brother's back, "You'll do yourself an injury."

So like him to scold when he was concerned. "If I didn't have it on, I wouldn't be accustomed to it. There's no point wearing huge sheets of metal to protect yourself if you can't do any fighting once it's on," Alphonse responded, mildly. "And if we got ambushed, it's not like the violent, psychotic criminals would grant me the courtesy of getting kitted up."

A snort, quickly muffled, sounded behind him. Shrugging gauntlets and vambraces off his hands and arms, the Knight eventually slid the back-and-breast place off his shoulders, which he rotated a couple of times to loosen them. "Thanks, Brother."

Edward grunted. "Yeah, yeah, just get the rest of it off so you can help me with this thrice-blasted contraption."

As he wandered back to the pitching area, Alphonse hurried to free himself of the chain mail over his breeches before the shorter man crippled himself on a tent peg.

Later, tent tamed and dinner eaten, the brothers lay comfortably side by side next to the fire, staring up at the inky blackness of the night sky. Food mellowed Edward, making him drowsy, open and gregarious. Away from the city, the older Elric would become entranced by the stars and in that sort of mood, he would happily point out constellations to his little brother for hours and explain what they meant, what significance they had for practitioners of arcane arts, all their myths and legends. It was these evenings that made the brothers acutely aware of what they missed when one was travelling alone whilst the other remained behind. With the chill of nightfall, the two travellers would press closer together for warmth, and Alphonse would find himself transported back to the glowing, glorious days of childhood, when he and his brother shared adventures and woes alike in the safe, protective bubble of their family home.

Of course, that was before…

Alphonse shivered unconsciously and reached out to take his brother's hand. Edward accepted the gesture without interrupting the soothing flow of his speech, and his thumb began a familiar, gentle stroking across the back of Alphonse's larger, stronger hand. They were both adults now, but that didn't mean the Knight took any less comfort from the reassurance of his older brother, or that either of them were embarrassed by innocent, affectionate contact.

Under the stars, they were no longer Knight and Mage, Trollslayer and Fullmetal One- just brother and brother, Edward and Alphonse.

Edward finished his incomprehensible explanation with the satisfied air of one who has just concluded a very successful debate. His grip on Alphonse's hand tightened momentarily, then he released it to sit up and scratch muzzily at his braided blond hair.

"Should I brush that for you?"

"Nah." A gloved hand waved off Alphonse's suggestion, airily. "'m kinda tired, Al, you okay for me to go to sleep?"

"Of course. You finished the protective circle when I was making dinner?"

"Uh-huh. Only a very determined earthquake could break through it." A huge, jaw-cracking yawn interrupted what Edward had been about to say, and he grinned sheepishly down at his little brother before hoisting himself up. "Night."

"Good night, brother. Sleep well."

"You too."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_

* * *

"You think that's it?"

Alphonse stared at his brother for a heartbeat or two, then turned to scrutinise the colossal volcano belching malevolent black clouds of smoke above the hearth-red glow of its inner furnace, smoke which wreathed the air about a collection of spindly towers and massive, fortressed walls that made up the castle, that sat ensconced upon a towering ledge of rock nestled within the heart of the volcanic mountain. "You seriously think we might be in the wrong place?" he asked, flatly.

"Well…" the older man squinted at the monstrous construction, idly tracing the runic inscriptions on his staff. "It might be a popular look in these parts. Wouldn't want to go storming in with fires ablaze and swords drawn, only to find the lord and lady at supper, jesters aplenty."

"I seriously doubt that _that_ place has 'jesters aplenty', Brother."

"Oh, I dunno, your average dragon probably appreciates a laugh now and again, after a hard day of burning villages and decimating livestock."

Gauntleted hands pressed briefly to closed grey eyes. "Just start working on the flame protection charms, Ed."

Edward flashed his teeth in something that would resemble a smile, had it contained less teeth. "As you wish, Sir Elric."

As his brother dug through one of the packs for one of his many leather-wrapped notebooks, the Knight settled himself down on a handy rock. They had halted at the very edge of the woods, sheltered by a bounteous canopy of leaves, roughly half a day's journey from their destination. The fresh crispness of the air was as yet untainted by the stench of sulphur that must coil about the volcanic fortress. It was incongruous in Alphonse's nose when his nerves were already beginning to spark with the promise of adventure. Their quest was deadly in it seriousness, and yet the Knight couldn't silence the excited voice that skipped through his blood, tripping and weaving in drunken delight at the promise of what was to come.

Ignoring the pirouette of birdsong and muted jangle of Edward's grumbling, Alphonse slipped his sword from its scabbard and ran meticulous eyes over the steel. Edward had charmed it with various properties; the Knight could summon it to his hand with a thought, it could produce flames if he concentrated hard enough (but only for a few brief moments) and once sharpened, it held its edge for an unnaturally long time. The hilt, bound with battered leather and topped by a spherical metal pommel, had belonged to his liege-master, the Knight who had apprenticed him as Squire and trained him in combat and chivalry. The elderly noble had been harsh but fair, possessed of his own infamy as the titular character of many heroic lays, and Alphonse had seen to it that the chimera demon that took his life paid an equivalent price.

This sword had served him well on his many quests. The sigil imprinted into the blade was the very symbol with which Edward signed his name, the Elric family crest, and the weapon carried thoughts of Alphonse's past wherever the present might take him. Plus, it had damn good balance, fitted perfectly to his hand and bore up to the Knight's adventurous life with surprising resilience.

Alphonse drew a whetstone from the drawstring pouch belted about his waist. For a fire-breathing dragon, a little extra preparation might be required.

"Do you think the Princess will be waiting for us?" he asked, abruptly, after a few strokes with the stone.

Edward paused in his mauling of the packs to huff his bangs out of his eyes. "Maybe," he shrugged. "If she hasn't already irritated the dragon so much that it ate her."

"Brother!"

"No, you're right, it wouldn't do that, she'd give it indigestion."

Alphonse jammed his whetstone along the sword's blade with a little more force than was necessary, and his brother sniggered. "Come on, Al, even you have to admit that she's as much of a fire-breath as any dragon."

"I find the Princess entirely charming," came the stiff reply. Alphonse was ever staunch in his loyal defence of his lady. It was his one instance of unreasonable blindness in an otherwise equitable personality.

Edward rolled his eyes. He dragged a final notebook from the bags and settled himself comfortably on the floor to begin casting. "Yeah, 'charming', that's why you dragged me away from the largest collection of magical academia in the whole world and marched me mercilessly across the barbarian plains, through the uninhabitable swamps _and_ through this godforsaken vegetable nest, right to the edge of darkness, just because you find her 'charming'."

"…" Alphonse looked like he wished his helmet was within easy reach. His older brother grinned and lobbed a stone at him, looking inordinately pleased by the _clang_ as it bounced off Alphonse's breastplate.

"Think you might get around to actually telling her how charming she is, after you've slain a dragon for her?"

The Knight sniffed, haughtily, continuing to stroke with the whetstone. "It is perhaps wise to focus on the slaying, before…"

"Oh, fine. But I reserve the right to refer to you as a giant armoured chicken if you don't say anything."

Alphonse bit down hard on the automatic 'next to you, any chicken looks gigantic' response. It wouldn't do for Edward to murder him here, not when he could die a much more noble death in the talons of a mythical beast, but a stone's throw away.

* * *

Old stone remembers, and echoes, much more than one would credit. Old stone _breathes_, resonant with a heartbeat that began before life first coughed and spluttered its way into existence. Old stone mumbles and murmurs to itself, soft-toned and sibilant, rich with the voices of those that surround it.

Edward shivered as cool air caressed his face, testing his reddened skin- the bridge he had formed from the living stone of the volcano had been little protection against the searing fury of the mountain's heat. Crossing the gulf between the mountain's edge and the pinnacle of rock upon which the castle stood had left both he and his brother scalded by currents of furious, heated wind, wind that burned with a touch. The incongruous chill within the walls of the keep was winter-cold by comparison.

The mage paused a moment, lingering in the shadows of the massive, arched doorway. Blackened remains of stone hinges and the skeleton of a huge, rustic mechanism revealed where a huge set of doors had once stood, now reduced to ages-old ash. The main keep, the biggest of the structures that made up the castle, opened first onto a large atrium, larger than a banquet hall, the cavernous ceiling of which was supported by a gallery of round columns, stretching across the space.

At various points about the walls, higher than several tall men standing on each other's shoulders, gaping holes had been punched into the rock that admitted the light, cruel gashes in the keep's defences. Otherwise, regular rectangular windows and cross-shaped arrow-slits allowed illumination. Arches wide enough to admit an entire phalanx of armoured knights on horseback led off at various points into antechambers and corridors, lit by the flickering red light of the volcano's core, a permanent blaze of dull red-orange and ochre-yellow.

At the opposite end of the chamber, a doorway mirroring the entrance led directly onto a huge flight of crumbling steps and, about the hall, human-sized openings showed the beginnings of shadowed, spiralling staircases.

As Alphonse came up behind, his battle-armour echoing clamorous in the vastness of the entrance hall, Edward stepped a little further in, the soft scuff of his boots sounding as loud as the scrape of scale on rock. Gesturing his brother to silence, the mage reached out to brush the craggy surface of the wall with the top of his staff, tracing out a complex, circular symbol of power, and then moved closer to press his cheek to frigid sandstone. He closed his eyes and listened, intently. The sigil glowed, faintly, like the shimmer of moonlight on lakewater.

The ancient, sedentary heartbeat of the crumbling giant snored soft and low at the edge of his magic-sharpened consciousness, and he poked at it cautiously, sending out tendrils of his power to traverse the sleeping veins of rock, following fissures and fault lines until a living ghost of the entire fortressed layout flickered firm in his mind. He grinned, patted the wall in thanks and turned to face his brother.

"Think I got it- I dunno where the Princess is, to much carbon interference to pick up a human heartbeat, but I can make an educated guess."

Alphonse tilted his helmeted head. "Educated?"

"Sod off." Edward wheeled to stare down the dimly-lit emptiness ahead of them. "Ready?"

"To fight a dragon and save a Princess? Always."

* * *

It might be wise, at this point, to break away from the infiltration of a dragon's jealously-guarded domain by two brave adventurers, and consider the exact purpose of their quest.

It began, as all days begin, with a simple sunrise.

Sunrise, a bright red blasphemy fading primrose pink and powder blue across a hazy morning sky. Sunrise, a bright red hallelujah softening to a pale and pleasant psalm, the harsh yellow of midday momentarily ensnared beneath the candle-flicker delicacy of dawn light. Sunrise, an awakening, a calling to arms, a bright red trumpet-blast across the sky, with a nation's wailing as its accompaniment.

"The Princess! The Princess is taken!"

The disappearance of a county's beloved, a figure in which they took pride and hope, snatched away with nary a whisper, the only trace a lingering scent of burning wood and smoke.

It's a story that everyone knows, everyone hears it somewhere along the way, even if the dragon is a demon, or the princess is a pauper. A young girl, snatched for her nobility, her beauty, locked away by a vicious beast for reasons untold. Perhaps simply to keep that age-old story alive. Stories are more important than mere chemical facts, it is stories that children remember, the _once upon a time_ and the _long long ago_, so perhaps the ghouls and goblins feel it is their duty in life to snarl and snatch, and behave exactly as legend tells them, that humanity might retain its collective sanity, and not peer too closely at the true, deep darkness that shrouds the universe.

So, a princess is captured from her fair home, born away to the domain of a fire-breathing beast, held prisoner in his castle until a Knight so bold as to rescue her (and patient enough to bring his Magely brother) might appear, sword in hand, to face the creature.

And yet, for such a large and fearsome creature, it had left no trace of its coming- no village shivered in its passing shadow, no slumberous palace guard sounded the alarm, no wizard's wards against invasion activated…yet, by whatever means or method, the Dragon had its Princess and two heroes had their quest.

* * *

"Are you sure this is the right staircase?"

"I'm insulted by your lack of faith, little brother."

"Well, this is the eighteenth flight of stairs we've tried, you know. I hate to cast aspersions on your wizardly intuition, but I AM wearing approximately my own weight in metal plates…"

"Don't be a baby."

"A ba- I'm a Knight of the realm!"

"Well then, don't be a chivalrous baby."

Alphonse spluttered his indignation. Edward, whose attention was entirely focused on projecting his senses ahead of them, didn't appear to notice. The Knight reflected that it might have been wiser to bring Kitty with him in place of his brother, rather than leaving her picketed at the base of the mountain; she would definitely have cast less aspersions against his Knightly honour.

A white-gloved hand waving frantically distracted him from his inner musings. Alphonse halted, his hand tightening on his sword hilt, and looked to his brother, automatically assuming a fighter's stance. Edward's shoulders were hunched, his staff held quivering before him, his head tilted, like a cat's as it followed the invisible movements of a mouse. "It's here," he murmured, softly.

With those two words, the faceless grey walls suddenly seemed to _loom_ over them, bitter and watchful sentries, shadowed guardians of the dragon's halls. The shadowed hollows and alcoves, even the pitiful puddles of darkness about the edges of the stairwell became alive with threat, menacing in their mystery, thick and deep with danger.

"Where is it?" Alphonse muttered back, stepping up to draw level with his brother.

The dim glow emanating from the Mage's staff sputtered and then grew brighter, illuminating, in the distance, a landing, from which the staircase continued to climb, off to the left, and flattened out in another corridor, on the right. "I don't know which one," came the tense reply.

The Knight drew in a deep breath, his armour clinking as he forced his muscles to relax. "We cannot face it until we've found the Princess," he stated, firmly. "And neither of us can face it alone…"

Edward's brow furrowed, as if he wanted to protest that second statement.

"You know I'm right, Brother. You might be the Fullmetal Mage but a dragon would have no difficulty melting you down to a half-metal snack."

The Mage growled. "We can't keep creeping around like this," he said, his voice low and fierce, "it's getting us nowhere- the main keep alone is big enough to keep us searching for a month."

"Agreed- but splitting up leaves each of us more vulnerable to attack."

Edward nodded, his golden eyes pensive. "Perhaps an alarm spell?" he suggested. "If I trigger it to signal me if you draw your sword? If the Dragon finds me first, I can alert you easily enough, I can always find your mind wherever you are."

Alphonse frowned beneath his visor. "I don't like it, Brother."

"Neither do I, but we're here to rescue the Princess, not wander around the castle until we become greybearded buffoons."

As if to compound the older brother's argument, a deep susurration of sound whispered about them, reverberating as it grew louder, the low rumble of a gigantic beast, stirring, awakening. Alphonse felt his skin prickle, his battle-instincts tightening his muscles, and looked ahead, up the stairs, to scrutinise the apparently-innocuous choice of passages.

"I'll go up," he stated, firmly. "You take the other corridor. At the first sign of trouble…"

"Yes. I know." Edward gave him a brief nod, then sank into a crouch by his side, muttering an incantation as he traced a symbol on the scabbard of his brother's sword. Alphonse felt the tingly warmth of a magical reaction, even through his armour, and reached down to help the Mage to his feet.

The two brothers met each other's gaze, measured and confident, as they clasped hands in the empty hallway of a dragon's keep. Alphonse pushed his visor back with his free hand, and stared at Edward, his eyes travelling over the oft-traversed plains of his brother's face, impressing every feature of it onto his mind. "Stay safe," he said, softly.

Edward appraised him a moment longer, then cracked a grin. "You too, little brother."

Then, with a cocky wink, he released his hand from Alphonse's grip and sauntered jauntily up the stairs, hefting his staff before him.

Watching the red-robed back disappear out of sight, Alphonse felt a tiny pulse of fear quicken inside him, then blinked as he came to a realisation- Edward had taken with him the faint glow of his staff, that had been illuminating the way, so how could the Knight still see? He looked down at his own waist, and grinned himself to see one of his belt pouches glimmering with enchanted light. "A simple torch would have sufficed," he remarked to himself, wryly, then drew in a deep breath and started up the stairs, his senses alert.

They were separated in the heart of the beast's den. It would be wise to complete their duties with as much haste as possible.

* * *

It wasn't long before the corridor began to wind down, twisting like a spiral staircase, but without the steps. Edward had dimmed his light source once the floor began to drop away, fearing a trap, but the unusual structure simply carried on ahead of him, as if it was normal for castles to have floors constructed at an angle.

The Mage spared a little attention to examine the stone as he walked, his bulky leather boots providing much needed traction on a floor that was treacherous, slippery with damp. This part of the keep could have been fashioned with magic, that would explain the unnatural smoothness of the walls and floor, but with what purpose? And who could have made such a thing? It was puzzling.

He hoped Alphonse was having better luck than he was. He could ignore the high-pitched voice of his worry, he'd suppressed it for so long that ignoring it was second nature, and he was confident of his brother's ability in combat and in cunning, and yet…his hand tightened on his staff. Adventure was a thrill he sorely missed in the city, but he also knew all too well the truth of the old adage about curiosity and cats.

Little by little, the adventurer became aware of a paradoxical freshening of the air as he descended, quickening about him like Spring, somehow more wholesome than the dank atmosphere further within the castle. He hurried his steps, eagerly, as the promise of daylight fluttered around the corners ahead of him- an exit meant access to the other buildings of the mountain fortress, access to what had looked from the outside to be a sizable courtyard- it would be a more suitable battleground than the dark, musty halls, a place where they might successfully lay an ambush...

Such was his fervency, Edward failed to notice the increasing damage to the keep's structure, the crumbling stone that littered the floor, the gaping holes like bitemarks in the walls, the occasional scrap of rusted, dented armour, the morbid, gleaming white of bone…

As he stepped through yet another massive archway, into a courtyard enclosed by teetering towers and the rough-hewn, monolithic castle walls, the dust stirred beneath his feet, the ground rumbled. The keep _groaned_, almost at the edge of his hearing, and, from deep within, he heard the rhythmic, unmistakable war-drum thuds of a behemoth's approach.

* * *

Alphonse cursed the inventor of the spiral staircase as he climbed and climbed, the pathway narrowing, the cramped circle of steps becoming tighter and tighter as the passageway wound up and up and up…He was climbing higher than the castle walls, or so it felt- climbing one of the spires that peeked precariously out over the top of the crenulated fortifications. That made sense- there was a tradition, in these things, about Princesses and towers…he only hoped he had the right one.

Just as he eyes were starting to swim with dizziness, the staircase, now tiny enough that the Knight was forced to hunch over awkwardly of strike his head on the stone ceiling, ended at a simple wooden door. Alphonse paused a moment to steady his breaths- truly, full combat armour was not the correct attire for Princess-rescuing, no matter what the tales said- then, steeling his nerves, he knocked at the door.

Nothing stirred within. He knocked again, a little louder, and heard, just faintly, the merest suggestion of movement from behind the door.

"My lady?" he called, hope swelling huge and suffocating in his throat, "Lady Winry? It is I, Alphonse of Elric. Your Champion."

There came a clatter, as of metal on stone, and he wrenched open the door, fearing the worst…only to see, at last, his Princess, whole and undamaged.

The garish midday sun, tamed by gossamer drapes at the triangular windows, bathed her in a honeyed glow, lighting her pale skin, bringing forth the gold in her long blond tresses. Her skin, ever-pale, appeared as winter's first snowfall, pure and beautiful, untouched, untainted. Her hands, long-fingered and clever, hung trembling at her sides, a fine match to the shock scrawled across her face. She was clad in pale green, lovely as a woodland sprite, and his heart ached in his chest to behold her.

Truly, he had forgotten how poor a mirror the sky was to the rich, sea-change swell of her eyes.

He fell to his knees, ungainly beneath the weight of his armour and her gaze. He lowered his head, bowing in helpless awe before her. He had broken the backs of monsters, slain demons, braved the darkest depths, the murkiest swamps…and under that blue-eyed scrutiny, he was again a shy child with muddy knees and a split lip.

Her step, delicate soft-shod hush of her silken slippers against the freezing floor. He was trembling, the tinny clatter giving him away, scrape of chainmail on plate metal…the pale pastel hem of her dress, swaying like a daisy in the breeze into his line of vision…he couldn't breathe…

"Arise, Sir Elric."

The clarity of a laughing stream bounced through her voice, summer flowers and the light chuckling laughter of birdsong, the freshness of Spring grass, the smell after rain…He stood, clambering slowly to his feet as if in a dream, his limbs weighed with treacle…he lifted his helmeted head to meet her eyes…and staggered sideways as she smashed him in the face with a wrench.

"Call yourself my champion? You took your damn time about getting here! Months, I've been stuck here, months, left to pine away in a tower like some sort of…some sort of…_girl_!" The Princess snarled, his lips drawn back from her teeth in rage.

Alphonse stared at her, visor now thrown back from his face, and she softened, sudden as summer lightening, and took the Knight's gauntleted and to press it to her cheek. "How I have missed you, my guardian," she said, her tone gentled once more, rich with joy and relief.

"Princess Winry…" His own voice shook, and he placed his hand over hers, as carefully as he could, fearful of hurting her with the sheer _force_ of the emotion swelling within him.

"_Alphonse…_"

Before either of them could say anything more, the entire tower _shook_ with a sudden impact, and an enraged, bestial scream rent the air. Simultaneously, Alphonse's head exploded with white noise, and the unmistakable screech of his brother's mingled fear and anger. The Knight dropped the Princess' hand and grabbed for his sword, running to the window to stare down at the courtyard at the sight of…

His brother, a tiny spot of whirling red and black and Mage's staff bursting with energy, facing down a colossus of fang and scale, a gigantic creature torn from nightmare, uncoiling itself from it's prone position where Edward's magic had thrown it. A second roar rent the air, and Alphonse screamed his own terror as the Dragon- at last, the Dragon- launched itself at his older brother…


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist

A/N: This chapter picks up immediately upon the events of the previous one, the break serves merely as a change of focus. From Alphonse's eyes, in the Princess' towers, to the golden eyes of his Magely brother …

* * *

Edward barely had time to screech a hastening spell before the Dragon pounced, covering the vast expanse of the courtyard with only a couple of bounds. With the spell in effect, he had just enough time to dodge to the side, out of the beast's range, and roll into the protective cover of a massive hunk of masonry as the fortress walls juddered again under the Dragon's impact.

A spitting snarl of anger emitted from the dust cloud thrown up about the creature, and Edward hurriedly passed his staff over the horse-sized rock that sheltered him, rushing the levitation incantation through his mind rather than attempting to say it aloud. With an explosive exertion of will, he _threw_ the rock at the creature, channelling his fear into the force behind the missile, and was gratified by an enraged screech and a meaty _thud_ of impact.

Unfortunately, the rash move left him without cover of any kind, and he cursed, sprinting for the nearest pile of rubble. He scrambled between two rocks twice his size, just in time to escape a jet of flame that seared just behind him. He could hear the immense impact of the Dragon's movements, the scrape of scale, the thump of its steps, the high whine of its furious breathing…he hurriedly knelt, drawing the dagger from his belt to scratch sigils into the dirt at his feet- magic always worked so much better, was so much stronger and more resilient when the symbols that summoned it were physically enscribed upon the world, but, oh, it took so much more time, and he fancied he could _hear_ the beast drawing in its breath to flame…

He slammed his hands down onto the inscription, and felt the rocks about him shift, instantly, toughening and coalescing into an impenetrable shield of diamond-hard carbon. And not a moment too soon- whilst the material settled into a new shape around him, the world glowed orange and white with flame, fire whose heat he stole to hasten and strengthen his magical working.

Ha. He'd like to see the Dragon break through _this._

The shattering _bang_ of a massive blow against the side of his temporary fortress made him reconsider that rash thought. He could hear the Dragon's talons scraping over the altered rock, digging and scratching for purchase, trying to find a crack and rip the hiding hole apart.

Edward hoped Alphonse would arrive soon. He'd sent out a call to his brother's mind, with his brother there he could weave his destructive combat spells, but they took time, they needed his full focus, and he could only devote that focus if there wasn't an overgrown lizard determinedly attempting to roast him.

The cacophony of the Dragon's scrabbling, desperate efforts suddenly ceased. Edward heard it hiss and then it _pounded_ away. As it did so, the Mage heard the sound he'd been waiting for- the battle cry of one of Amestris' finest Knights.

With his hands still braced against the circular set of symbols Edward could manipulate his miniature stronghold, easing the rock aside to create a peephole. Blinkered to every direction but straight ahead, Edward had to strain his eyes through the crack to see the hulking form of the Dragon, settling into a defensive crouch, its wings half-raised, its tail lashing like an angry cat's, and through the gap between its body and the floor, between its four, massively-muscled legs, the Mage could make out the armoured form of the little brother, stood strong and tall in the entranceway to the castle, sword raised in challenge.

With a single word, Edward broke the back wall of his diamond-rock structure apart, keeping the curved front wall intact, and stepping out from behind it to signal his safety to his brother. He saw the sword lift and fall in acknowledgement, then turned his attention to their enormous adversary.

Crouched, the Dragon was easily as tall as two draught horses standing on top of one another. Each four-toed, claw-tipped paw was as big as a hunting dog, sturdy legs were tree-trunk thick, and seemed to be plant themselves as firmly. Its tail was appeared to be equal to almost twice its body's length, and the thick yet sinuous neck was at least as long as the creature's legs. Stood next to it, Alphonse's head might just be level with the junction of limb and body, but Edward would barely clear the Dragon's elbow (the Mage spared a second to seethe about that fact). The creature's scales were oily black, the darkest of life-stealing shadows given flesh, so black they shone, black as witching-hour, lightening to twilight blue on the lower edge of the beast's neck, chest and belly. A row of vicious-looking spikes ran the length of the Dragon's spine, wicked curved hooks. And, at its shoulder blades, was the most mystifying sight.

Half-unfurled, yawning massive over the creature's back, were its two wings, like the wings of a giant bat. It was not, however, their size or beauty that made Edward gasp. Locked about every spine of the Dragon's wings, piercing the thin membrane of flesh every foot or so, were chunky silver rings of metal. The glittering mass of rings were interconnected by dozens of slender chain, tiny against the Dragon but perhaps the width of Edward's wrists. The chains were such that the creature could barely lifts its wings from the their folded position on its back, let alone unfurl them to their extent. They loomed, half-open, over the Dragon, the metal encasing them chiming with the creature's movement.

Edward marvelled at that, even as it caused a sick lump to harden in his throat- who could have so entrapped a Dragon? And why, what could be the purpose of such an enchantment? For an enchantment it was, were those chains but metal, the Dragon would snap them in a heartbeat. Why would any magical practitioner chain a living creature of the skies so, dangerous as it might be, and then leave it to live a grounded existence?

He had no time to ponder the questions, however. The Dragon was drawing up its head, undoubtedly to flame, and his brother was directly in its path. Edward saw Alphonse begin to dart to the side, and swung his staff up, accessing its stored-up, quick-release energy. It took but a heartbeat to forge the charm and expel it, an invisible shield that shattered past the Dragon to cover his brother, just in tiem to counter the promised gout of fire that seared from the Dragon's lips.

The Dragon whirled, with astonishing, python-strike speed despite its bulk, and surged forwards, striking out with its claws. Alphonse scrambled to his feet just in time to raise his sword, steel blade cutting a bright arc through the dust raised by the battle and meeting the Dragon's talons with an impact that drove the Knight back.

The beast roared in pain, drawing its paw back to its chest, and lashed out again as Alphonse charged, sword whirling, dodging the oncoming talons to slash at the Dragon's chest. Quick as a whip, it swung a wingtip down to batter the Knight aside, sacrificing a single wound for a blow that sent Alphonse flying through the air. The Knight rolled as he landed to dampen the impact, winded and bruised but using the impetus of the landing to throw himself back to his feet. Bare seconds after he regained his legs, the Dragon struck again, and he was forced to duck and weave, swinging his sword in a barrage that was as much defence as attack.

Edward dove back behind his shelter and began his furious work. His dagger was a blur of frantic movement as he drew and redrew the sigils he wanted, sigils that worked as a gate to access the magic latent in nature but whose use had to be manipulated through their careful placing in sequence and order. Every few scratched, the Mage would break away from his work to eye the battle, checking that his brother was still fending off the ferocious onslaught from the castle's guardian. Alphonse was renowned for battling monsters and demons, but he had yet to add 'Dragonslayer' to his diverse collection of titles.

And the Knight was tiring, rapidly.

Edward hurried through the final few inscriptions and sent a burst of blue light into the air with a flick of his staff, the signal to his brother. The Dragon screamed as he continued to survey his work, and he was out from behind his shelter immediately, just in time to see Alphonse hit the ground running, dropped from one of the creature's foreclaws as it reared into the air, limbs thrashing, blood gushing from a deep wound above its left eye. The Knight sprinted to his brother, running with the long, low stride of one who is nearing exhaustion, and they both dropped behind the barrier as the ground shook with the impact of the Dragon coming back to earth.

"Hello, brother," Alphonse greeted Edward, swapping his sword to his left hand and shaking out his wrist with an audible wince. His armour was severely dented in places, crunched with grooves by the Dragon's hold, and the Knight's limbs were shaking. Edward banged a fist against his armour, in reassurance, then laid his hands to the earth, igniting the arrayed symbols, pouring himself into the earth and feeling it answer him.

Casting out his consciousness, the Mage fixed the Dragon in his mind's eye, gathering his power for this final strike- the creature was cuffing at the wound on its face, growling reverberations echoing through the ground like the rumbles of an earthquake, and its tail was thrashing with fury, clawing at the earth, its wings straining against their chains as the Dragon snarled its rage. It lifted its head, its eyes narrowing as it focused on the barrier erected by the Mage. It tensed its muscles, nostrils flaring as it drew in air, its head rising as its body swelled, its mouth gaped open to flame…

And the earth beneath its feet _burst_ into life, tendrils of rock and stone flowing up and over the immense body, looping about the long snout to seal it closed, encasing every limbs, even stilling the massive tail. Edward grinned as the Dragon howled its indignation, and threw his own fire into the mix, heating the rock to hasten its movements, then locking it about the Dragon with smug, satisfied flicks of his magic.

Edward released the spell. He'd immersed himself in it so deeply that he physically flew backwards into his brother with a _clang_ of steel, and both Mage and Knight grinned, one behind his visor. Alphonse clapped his brother on the back and manoeuvred them both upright. Edward's head was pounding with effort, spinning with dizziness, and his limbs were choosing their own directions, contrary to the commands of his brain. Too much magic in one day, he decided, wryly, as the brothers stepped out from behind Edward's little stronghold to gaze at their adversary.

With its jaw bound shut, the Dragon could only snarl in a muted, muffled fashion at them, its muscles twitching beneath its bonds of stone. Edward noted, with a critical craftsman's eyes, the artistry of his workmanship- the rock held solid, living stone risen like a geyser and wrapping about the Dragon's form as gentle and simultaneously undeniable as ivy tendrils.

Beside the Mage, Alphonse raised his sword in salute, then sheathed it with a flourish. He glanced at his older brother, a question in his eyes. Edward might have like to delay their departure, study their opponent, but the rock prison would only hold the Dragon for so long, and the thought of killing it whilst it was bound settled queasy and vile in his stomach like nausea. He shook his head, presenting his staff and then bowing his head to the creature, which responded with an intensifying of its enraged struggles.

"Let's go," the Mage told his brother, his voice firm with triumph.

They turned their backs, trudging across the gouged, shattered earth of the courtyard, littered, now, with the debris of battle, to the cool inner sanctum of the castle. Their legs were heavy with weariness, their bodies and minds aching and bruised, but victory filled their blood like light, rich and syrupy, the chirruping bounce of triumph and accomplishment surging inside them, giving strength to tired limbs and exhausted hearts.

Edward turned to ask his brother if he found the Princess, and caught sight of a green blur hurtling down a nearby staircase towards them, a member of the royal family running as unrestrained and undignified as a peasant shepherdess before she hurled herself at Alphonse, her laughter like the silvery peal of bells.

The Knight staggered under the impact, his arms coming up around her, spinning her into his embrace with a shout of his own, joyous laughter.

"You did find her then," Edward grinned, leaning on his staff to watch the lovers' reunion.

The euphoria lasted for approximately five minutes.

Alphonse was just setting his lady back on her feet, and reaching up to cup her cheeks with his bloodied gauntlets, when an almighty _crack_ sounded from outside.

The blood drained from Edward's face, and he had just enough time to spin on his heels before a raging behemoth struck him, tons of flesh and scale grabbing and pinning him to the floor with an exultant roar. The Mage struggled, trying to bring his staff around to bear, when a jaw bigger than him slid open to reveal the Dragon's fangs, mere centimetres away from his face, bathing him in foetid heat as the Dragon panted over him, its claws laying oppressively, crushingly heavy over the Mage's body, imprisoning him helpless to the freezing stone of the floor.

He could not help but reflect upon the irony as living scale, shockingly hot, encased him as he had encased the Dragon. Blinkered by the Dragon's flesh, he could only stare up at his death, the sheen of his doom written in the glitter of light off serrated fang, so close he could see the tiny fault-lines and cracks that made up each tooth.

He heard Alphonse scream his name, heard the Princess just scream, and hoped, desperately, hoping against hope, that they would escape.

The world stilled around them, coalescing bright and sharp upon this one, unending moment. The Mage studied his killer's alien face, abstractly; two horns protruded from the Dragon's crown, and a sort of ruff extended from both cheeks, flared with anger and tipped with little spikes. The Dragon's head was structured more like a horse's than a snake's, though it had elements of both, and more like a wolf's than either. Its nostrils, each as big as a fist, were slitted ovals above its wide mouth, a jaw that bulged with muscle. The Dragon's eyes, this close, swam with a myriad of colours, like the heart of a pearl, incandescent and immutable, swirling vortex of the entire spectrum of light, bisected by a narrow slit of black pupil.

Edward's senses, heightened by the pounding of his heart, the imminent certainty of his demise, picked out every individual ridge in the scaly skin that pressed him down, wondered why the Dragon didn't simply _lean_ to crush him, or snap him up with those jaws, then realised that, even as the Dragon had borne him to the ground, his brother had drawn his sword, ignited the flame within it with single word, and must now be raising it to strike, only halted by the proximity of the Dragon's teeth to his brother's face…

The moment stretched. Sweat trickled down Edward's back, down his cheek, and he found himself urging Alphonse to get on with it, already.

He didn't.

A voice broke the silence.

"Traditionally, such a situation would be known as a stalemate," it said, deep, rough and amused.

Edward gaped. He could almost hear the _clang_ of his brother's jaw dropping to match his. He stared up at the Dragon. It had lifted its long snout away from Edward and was looking down to its right (ah, so that's where Alphonse was) with its elegant serpentine jaw tilted and its tongue flickering out between enormous fangs.

"You…talk?" the Knight said, eventually, somewhat thrown by the revelation.

The talons trapping Edward to the floor tightened in irritation and the spiky tail swished like an affronted cat's. "I am not one of your dumb countryside lizards," the huge creature hissed, seemingly more offended by that than the sword that Alphonse was pointing at it, or the Mage's staff that Edward was now straining for with his fignertips. It drew itself up, its chest expanding in a way that made Edward frantically cycle through his fire-protection incantations. However, the creature merely huffed its indignation and continued; "You might afford me a little more respect. Dragons commanded this world long before humans blighted its landscape."

Its voice was unmistakably male, rich and low, edged with a growl.

Edward might have been offended himself by the 'blight' comment, but his primary concern at that moment was to prevent the massive claws from crushing him to death. He could hear, but not see, the little anxious movements that Alphonse was making from the scrapes and clanks of his armour. He prayed his calmer, more patient brother would keep his head. He tended to lose it where Edward's safety was concerned, but perhaps a fire-breathing Dragon would be enough to cool his ardour. Perhaps.

The Mage cleared his throat, drawing lazy, slit-pupilled attention to him. If it could talk, and take offence, it might be possible to reason with the beast. "So, erm…" Edward's mind blanked in sheer terror as the reptilian head moved closer, then began to function again when the creature settled. "Look, erm, sir, we're…we're really sorry about breaking in and, er, trespassing without knocking and, and, attempting to kidnap your," Edward hunted frantically for an appropriate word and settled on, "guest."

Winry let out what might have been a gasp or a snarl. It was hard to tell whilst concentrating on not being eaten.

"But, er, you see, the thing is…you know, you took her first, she was _ours_ first, you had no right to-" Edward paused, aware that for once, he wasn't trying to antagonise someone, then finished somewhat pathetically with, "we're just very sorry, we only wanted to get our friend back."

In the silence that followed, he could _feel_ the communal bemusement in the atmosphere. He didn't dare turn his gaze from the Dragon's, but he could easily picture the baffled incomprehension that would be crossing over his brother's face beneath the armour.

Opalescent eyes blinked a couple of times. The shift of the Dragon's tail over dusty stone sounded loud in the quiet.

"I'll fix the wall, if you like," the Mage offered, when the silence remained unbroken.

White teeth flashed suddenly in Edward's vision. The Dragon tossed his head back, letting out an odd, guttural roar, a weird shudder shaking the huge body. A loud clanking signalled Alphonse's alarmed reaction- Ed had no idea what he was doing, but it sounded drastic, so he yelled, "Al, if you move one inch I'll turn you inside out and knit your intestines into a loincloth!"

His whole attention on the agitated Dragon, Edward didn't register a response from his little brother. He was too busy trying to work out if he might be able to struggle free, if he could _just_ reach his staff they might stand a chance, he had no idea how he'd managed to upset the creature…Which was when he realised that the Dragon, rather than drawing himself up in anger to toast him, was in fact _laughing_. Dark scales were rattling against each other as his chest shuddered with amusement, and his wings, in their metal harness, were shaking as he bellowed his delight to the lofty ceiling.

"Oh, little mage, truly you are the first of my visitors ever to offer apologies for attacking my castle and threatening my life!"

Edward fought the urge to bristle. He was not _little_!

That said, the Dragon was the size of a small townhouse, so it understandable that he might mistake the Mage for being smaller than he in fact was. Besides, getting him in a good mood was conducive to not getting crisped. Edward was about to speak again when the Dragon abruptly stopped laughing and fixed him with an unnerving, intent look. "You and your comrades are deeply devoted to one another, are you not?"

"Yes."

The black head bowed. "Admirable. Truly admirable. To risk death in the name of love, rather than foolish honour or empty glory, that is an admirable thing. You interest me, mageling."

The blond let out a strangled noise. He had absolutely no idea where this was going, but he would be prepared to bet his remaining limbs and his entire magical knowledge that he was not going to like it. Judging by the renewed scrape of metal-against-metal, neither did Alphonse. Ah, his brother was too clever for simple Knighthood!

The Dragon continued to study him. "Practitioners of magic have one sacred rule above all other, do they not? Equivalent exchange. You attempt to justify your meddling by clinging to a self-imposed restriction, that the universe neither sees nor contemplates."

Edward gritted his teeth at the slight. "Yes," he replied, tightly.

"Then I propose a trade. Your armoured friend may take his Princess, we have had enough time to grow weary of each other, and you will remain here in her stead. When time equal to her imprisonment has elapsed, you have my full permission to attempt an escape by any means necessary, including my own death at your hands. Does that sound fair?"

Alphonse's gasp was audible through the grill of his helmet, but Edward didn't even stop to think about it. "Deal."

"Brother!"

"Ed!"

The creature nodded agreement, ignoring the respectively anguished and aggrieved outbursts from Edward's companions. "Then we have an accord."

The massive clawed paw lifted, allowing Edward to stand and brush himself off. The Mage looked over to his brother, who had an arm around Princess Winry's waist and his sword raised, torn between protecting her and attempting to rescue Edward.

"You go ahead, Al!" he called, unwilling to step out from underneath the Dragon in case it thought he would try and escape. "I'll get out of here before you know it!"

"Brother!"

Edward hid a wince at his brother's tone and plastered a confident smirk on his face. "You know I can handle this easy, get out of here, the pair of you!"

There was a tearful note to the plea now. "But, Brother…Brother…I…"

Winry clutched at his breastplate, her eyes overbright. "Make sure you get back in one piece!" she yelled, her voice barely tremulous. "I didn't fix you up just so you could become a Dragon's toothpick, bean-boy!"

"WHO'S A MICROSCOPIC BEAN WHO NEEDS AUTOMAIL PLANTING CANES TO GROW HIGH ENOUGH TO BE SEEN?"

"Enough!" The Dragon raised himself to his full, impressive height, drawing back his head as if to flame. "Your quest is fulfilled, leave my castle at once!"

Alphonse started at that, raising his sword and taking a step forwards, but the Princess tugged at him, shaking her head with her blonde hair falling into her eyes, standing on tiptoe to speak urgently to him. The Knight wavered, visibly torn in two directions, then lifted his visor to cast a despairing look at his brother, who forced his grin to stay in place. A heartbeat later, Alphonse tightened his grip on Winry, and they both turned away. Edward watched them go, clinging to each other, forcing themselves not to look back. His heart sank in his chest, and he wondered, for a moment, what would result if he tried to followed.

A gout of fire spilled from the Dragon's lips as he watched the intruders leave, and he snorted, the talons of his nearest paw scraping deep furrows into the stone.

Perhaps not, then. Well, he had a few months to figure out an escape. Edward gulped. He just hoped his host wouldn't grow hungry for human flesh in that time. He glanced up to find it giving him a calculating look.

"Follow me," the creature ordered, brusquely. He twisted fluidly, smooth as a snake, and began to pad with surprising lightness out of the cavernous hall. Edward followed, seeing little choice in the matter. "Your name is Ed?"

"Edward. Edward Elric, or Fullmetal Mage." The Mage kept his tone politely respectful. It would be wise to answer willingly to the Dragon's whims for now, he had to get close enough to him to discover any weaknesses the beast had. Hopefully there would be several glaring ones to facilitate Edward's escape from his newly-decided imprisonment. Mind, Winry had looked as healthy and high-spirited as she ever had, despite her not-inconsiderable term under the Dragon's guard; the creature couldn't be as cruel or bestial a master as the stories claimed.

"Edward Elric? The name is familiar. You must possess a formidable reputation, for it to have reached even my isolated ears," the deep voice mused. "I wonder how much it will add to my own, that I managed to defeat you."

The blond bristled automatically. Despite the praise, he had to clench his fists tight about the staff and grit his teeth until his jaw muscles protested, just to avoid snapping into a mad flailing rage. Blows to his freedom, he could handle. Blows to his pride…

Whatever torturous plans for revenge upon his massive scaly adversary were forming in his mind, they were all obliterated the moment the Dragon led him over the threshold of their destination. The Mage halted in the doorway, completely gobsmacked, as the black Dragon proceeded ahead of him. He haHe"You actually _do_ sleep on a heap of gold?" Edward was astounded. "Is that not a little uncomfortable? And extravagant?"

Wings lifted in an unconcerned draconic shrug. "When one has accumulated treasure that one has neither use nor desire for, what else can one do but sleep on it? Before humans began to dig metals and jewels out of the ground, we Dragons had no use for them." The creature narrowed his eyes. "Though we do have a fondness for objects that catch the light."

Edward grinned, unthinking. "So, you're saying that Dragons like shiny things?"

"As you say. We are strange beasts. And gold feels nice against scale." Abruptly, the Dragon mounted the pile with an effortless bound, and draped himself languorously over the gems and precious objects, their radiance reflected in his obsidian scales.

Edward contemplated the creature, considering him anew in the brilliance of the hoard. He was ignoring the Mage, fussing at his pricey bed like an enormous, deadly, reptilian puppy. Huge muscles bunched and relaxed as he made himself comfortable, and Edward was once again made uncomfortably aware of how easily the beast might dispatch him to the afterlife, should he push it too far. In this moment, however, he was exhibiting purely peaceful characteristics; capable of intelligent thought and reasoning, fierce pride, a sort of reptilian hedonism, irony, child-like fascination with precious things; Dragons were clearly composed of a finer stuff than their legends would attribute them. This creature was, unlike the innocent and simple animals of the land, both bestial and human, possessed of individualism and thought, perhaps even spirituality…

It was entirely fascinating. Edward could feel his fingers itch for ink and parchment. If he was to be imprisoned in close quarters with the beast for months, why not use the opportunity to advance his name as a scholar? Why not produce a treatise on the true nature and being of Dragons, as observed and recorded by Edward of Elric? Let the hunckbacks at the university scoff at his credentials then!

His musings were interrupted by the bass voice of the subject of his thoughts. "I have not yet returned the courtesy of telling you my name," the Dragon said, suddenly. _Impulsiveness, a trait of instinct within the refined art of conversation and social interaction?_ The beast continued, "It is Roy."

Silence.

"ROY? Your name is _Roy_?"

'Roy' pointed his snout to the floor in a gesture that Edward recognised as acknowledgement.

"But…you're a Dragon! You should have a name that's arcane and mystical and, and, more than three syllables! You can't be called _Roy_!"

The Dragon sniffed. "I don't see why not, 'Roy' is as good a name as any other. My mother, I think, wanted to call me Zartuuslaraeus, but Father pointed out that by the time you'd finished shouting it out to warn me of impending danger, I'd already have an axe in my throat."

_Practical names, for such impractical, legendary, mythical beasts._ The mind boggled. The academic world would be _begging_ for this treatise after a mere _chapter_.

Roy spoke again. "Now that we are fully introduced to each other, it would be prudent to explain to you the code of conduct I expect from my guests. Your life, your freedom, your ability to move, all of these things are dependent upon me. It is according to my discretion that food is provided for you, and it is upon my sufferance that you remain uneaten yourself. I am being clear?"

"Quite," Edward agreed, determinedly _not_ at a squeak.

The Dragon yawned, and resettled itself on top of the gold with faint chinking sounds. "In return for your continued ability to take breath, I will require you to provide me with entertainment if I wish it, companionship, and one or two minor domestic tasks about the castle. Anything within these walls, you may explore- anything. I trust you would not be so gauche as to attempt thievery at my expense, but the library, the galleries, any of the dungeons or keeps- they are all at your disposal, so long as you obey my wishes. Is that agreeable?"

Edward wondered, briefly, how the Dragon would react if the arrangement was not agreeable- possibly, he would find himself well-toasted before sunrise. "That is most acceptable." Besides, the library sounded fascinating…

"Excellent. Now, I pray that you will forgive a dismissal; I need to rest. There are, alas, few rooms within the main keep furnished for human comfort. The Princess herself preferred the romance of the tallest tower, they often do, but the west wing of the main keep is closer and warmer, if you do not object to my proximity."

"My thanks." Edward sketched a brief bow _(See, Al, I can be polite if the circumstances are life-threatening enough!)_ and took his leave, his brow furrowing in deliberation as soon as he was away from his captor- how might he escape this prison? Would it even be possible with such a formidable opponent guarding all exits? And just how deeply could his study of the creature probe?

He came to an abrupt halt, staring about himself in consternation. More importantly, where _was_ the west wing?


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_

N/B: this is a slightly uneventful, housekeeping sort of a chapter, but I hope you enjoy it- some stillness after the action and upheaval.

* * *

It is a law, universal in all worlds in existence, that those who live as academics of one form or another simply cannot rise from slumber until a good third of the day has passed.

Thus, the Fullmetal Mage clambered muzzily from his bed, scrubbing at disarrayed hair, and blinked with bleary eyes at the room around him. He'd forgotten to close the drapes the night before, and the late morning sun shone in, obnoxiously bright and strangely tinted with red-orange. He yawned, shivering a little at the coolness of the room, and wondered, vaguely, why he'd slept with his staff in the bed, and why his university room had suddenly expanded to three times its usual size, and why he _ached_ so much and…

Ah yes. He'd been captured by a Dragon.

Edward yawned again, scratching at an itchy spot on his neck. He was never at his best in the mornings, it was a wonder Alphonse had ever managed to drag him along on his Princess-rescuing quest. It had involved an _obscene_ amount of early rising, following the brutal pattern of the sun's flight and fall, Alphonse was a creature of daylight and birdsong, Edward always felt he should protest that he was a being of night-time and candlelight and shimmering, ghostly presence of the moon…He stretched for a good long moment, feeling abused muscles protest the strain, a cacophony of bruises and strains clamouring for attention across his body. He felt like he'd been slammed into a wall, his left side was agony.

The Mage's brain, rather impatiently waiting for him to finish waking up, pointed out again the unfamiliar surroundings and the cause of his bruising, and waited for him to notice.

Edward stared at the stone walls of the room, noting that sandstone was an interesting choice of construction material for a fortress occupying the open maw of a volcano. Perhaps he could ask the Dragon…the _Dragon!_

He started upright in a mad scramble of limbs, wincing and grabbing up his clothes. He struggled hastily into them, cursing, not for the first time, the inescapable Magely practice of wearing hundreds of layers of underthings, breeches, hose, undershirt, shirt, tunic, under-robe, over-robe, ornate belt to hold it all together and leather boots. And this was his relatively simple travel ensemble, nothing like the richly-embroided, multi-layered and terribly expensive vista of fabric that made up his university costume.

He was just straightening the mud-hemmed red over-robe (with a displeased twist of his lips and a question in his mind of whether the Dragon might possess anything more suitable) when he encountered a problem. He didn't have a hairbrush. All of his gear had been left, as had Alphonse's, with Kitty, and would now be travelling back to Amestris with the Knight and Princes for company.

Edward considered the room he'd fallen into more by chance than design. Though dusty with neglect and somewhat musty, it was fully-furnished for human habitation. Judging by the Dragon's comments the day previous, any other 'guests' the creature had kept had preferred to keep their distance, which begged the question of why these furnished areas had remained intact. Had the Dragon taken a human castle by force, brutally murdering all of its inhabitant to set up home? Why would it do such a thing? The creature's immense size meant it could only comfortably inhabit the lowest floor of the main keep, despite extensive 'remodelling' on its part, and all in all, the castle's conquest seemed an awful lot of effort to go through for very little benefit…

All questions aside, however (eternal curiosity was ever the Mage's downfall), the extent of the furnishings in just this room led Edward to wonder whether…He approached the ornately-carved wooden dresser the dominated the far wall. Muttering an apology to whoever had previously owned it, he rummaged through its drawers, managing to unearth not only a sturdy hairbrush, but shaving utensils, a hand mirror, a vast assortment of clean, serviceable hose and, rather bizarrely, a whisk.

He decided not to disturb the whisk.

It did not take the wizard long to make himself presentable. He considered, briefly, mending the rips in his clothes, but decided it would be a waste of magic. He evaluated himself in the dresser's mirror. There was a sizable scrape on his right cheek, but he was otherwise presentable. Hopefully there would be a water supply in the castle somewhere, he would need to wash before he felt entirely comfortable.

Now to find his host.

* * *

Eventually, after fruitless hours, Edward resorted to the trick he used upon first entering the castle- sinking himself into the walls to impress the layout into his mind. He might have spent his entire life wandering the halls otherwise. The structure was vast and incredibly complicated; it contained more twists and turns than a wizard's promise, and the Fullmetal Mage would know.

It was more by chance than design that he stumbled upon his captor. The Mage was wandering through what he now knew to be the southernmost warren of corridors, peering in at every room (a gallery, a storage room, several massive, empty, echoing spaces), when he head the unmistakable scrape of scale and clink of metal, and hurried to catch up with it before it could move out of range.

He found the Dragon contemplating a spiral staircase, its eyes narrowed in concentration. He stared at it, marvelling anew at the sheer size of the creature, his hungry, curious gaze travelling over vast limbs, glimmering scale, the proud set of the beast's head, the delicate poise of his tail. He wondered if the Dragon would consent to a portrait, his treatise would be much improved with a few sketches…

Teeth flashed into his vision and he startled back to attention. The Dragon's head was turned to him, bright eyes studying the Mage, and his lips had drawn back from his teeth in something that looked so much like a snarl that Edward's hands gripped his staff and almost dropped into a fighting stance.

"Good morning," Roy said, amiably. "Are you well-rested?"

The Mage blinked. Definitely not a snarl, then. A smile? "Very well, thank you," he replied, choosing his words carefully. "And yourself, sir?"

The Dragon nodded, turning back to his study. Edward noticed that Roy's left cheek was crusted with dried blood, a remembrance of Alphonse's final attack, and his stomach squirmed at the thought of his brother.

Roy's voice interrupted his musings. "Mageling, come here."

He obeyed, unable to quell a quiver as he stepped into the Dragon's shadow, all-too-aware of the power locked in the creature's body. Roy, seeming not to notice his hesitation, gestured at the staircase with a claw. "This structure, would you declare it stable?"

Edward wondered at the question, but turned his attention to it regardless, focusing on the construction. He raised his staff to trace some symbols, then thought better of it as the gnarled wood sent a pulse of warning through his fingertips. It was still tired from the exertion of the day before, if he used it for something trivial, it was going to turn him into something unpleasant. He rolled his eyes at the staff, silently retorting that it was _his_ instrument, he would use or abuse it however he wished. The staff pulsed again, prissily, pointing out with acid smugness that if that was the case, then why was Edward searching his belt pouch for chalk instead?

The Mage deliberately ignored the whispered teasing as he located a stub of chalk, and propped the staff up against the wall. He had inherited it from his Teacher and, like any gift of hers, it had been both a blessing and a curse. A staff was not a necessary piece of equipment for a wizard, but it served as an excellent focusing device for everyday casting, as well as an emergency store for magical energy. Unfortunately, the damn things were so imbued, so enchanted, that the inner heart of the wood that formed them would awaken, over time, rising to the call of the Mage's power. They were not alive, as such, they had no soul or personality, but they did develop…quirks. Edward's had developed an extraordinary pride in itself, which had made the Mage's brother wonder if wizard staffs picked up traits from their owners.

Edward chalked a simple circular symbol onto the wall and activated it with a touch of his hand. His head throbbed as he did so, reminding him that his staff was not the only thing that needed to rejuvenate its magical energies. He dropped the chalk back into his pouch, and took up his staff once again as the symbol began to glow, faintly.

A shifting noise behind him alerted the Mage to the Dragon's movement, and he glanced up to find Roy lowering his head, intent upon the light spilling from Edward's enchantment.

The light flickered golden as candlelight for a heartbeat, then shifted to a bright, brilliant blue. Edward reached out to touch it again, swiping through the symbol and silencing it, quickly rubbing the chalk off the stone.

"It should be stable enough," he reported, turning to meet the Dragon's eyes. "There is some weakening of the supports but it won't collapse unless there is considerable weight on it."

Roy tilted his head, his tongue flickering out briefly to taste the air. Edward was struck by the sudden thought that the Dragon had been well aware of the staircase's structural integrity, and merely wanted a show of the Mage's abilities. He shuffled his feet under the pearly gaze.

"I am glad to hear that," the Dragon said, after a pause. "That is the quickest route to the library, and the news of your death thanks to falling rubble would have saddened me. Have you found the kitchens yet?"

The Mage gaped for a moment, uncertain which part of the Dragon's statement to respond to, then picked the direct question. "No, no, I…" Before he could finish, his stomach growled, loud and insistent. He felt the prickle of a blush in his cheeks, but Roy seemed not to notice.

"Come then, I'll show you."

The Dragon turned, fluid as a cat, and began to pad out of the room. Edward had to run to catch up- even walking, the Dragon's pace was equal to a human jog. The creature's thick shoulders brushed against the walls every so often, as did the tips of his folded wings, and Edward had to wonder again at the inconvenience of castle-living for the creature. Even the Mage, who was…lacking in stature next to Roy, could not walk alongside him. The Dragon even seemed to be ducking his head- from the little Edward had observed, Roy typically held his head high, like a well-schooled dressage horse, and walking through the castle halls, he kept his head much lower on his long neck.

As he trailed behind the swaying haunches, eyeing the swinging tail with increasing nervousness (how would the Dragon know where he was to avoid walloping him?), the Mage reflected on his surreal situation. Surely, surely, he was not being shown the way to breakfast by a firebreathing Dragon? Surely this was the highest of flights of fancy? Was he perhaps trapped between the endless, rhythmic metre of a balladeer's tale of high romance?

Edward, his consciousness thus occupied, walked into a wall and thumped, with a complete absence of any grace or nobility, to land heavily his bruised behind. He groaned, trying to stand up and tangling his legs in his robes, and looked up sharply to glare at the wall.

It looked back, mildly perturbed. "Why," the Dragon enquired, his head swinging round on his neck to peer back at the Mage along his lengthy body, "did you just walk into me?"

For a heartbeat, Edward lamented his all-too-sudden, tragic, scorching demise. Roy, however, seemed disinclined to burn him, so he scrambled hurriedly to his feet and bowed in apology. "I beg your pardon, I…didn't quite realise how close you…how close I…I, er, didn't see you stop…" His voice tailed off in an embarrassed mumble, and he peered up at the Dragon sheepishly through his blond fringe.

"Hm." Roy gave him a critical once over, then sniffed and turned away. Edward pondered that scrutinizing look, as he made his cautious way forwards to stand at the motionless Dragon's head. Was the beast as interested in he as he was in it?

"This is one of the doorways to the kitchen," Roy announced, gesturing with one of his forepaws, replacing the limb on the stone with a thud that Edward felt through his boots. "There are larger ones, of course, and cellar pantries in the old dungeons, but this smaller galley was preferable to your Princess."

"I thought you said you scarcely bore witness to her, whilst she was here?" Edward blurted out, unthinking, then flinched with realisation.

The Dragon merely nodded. "She kept her distance, mageling, but we were not strangers in our entirety. For occasional necessities she was compelled to seek my audience. I shall leave you to your business; be alert to my summons."

And with that, Roy was gone, disappearing into the castle's labyrinth of corridors.

For a moment, Edward stared after him. The Dragon was an otherwordly, inscrutable creature; had he been human, Edward might have been tempted to attribute melancholy, even hurt, to the tone of those last words concerning the Princess… The Mage shook his head, ridding his body of the chill inspired by the Dragon's presence, and stepped into the kitchen, his mind momentarily relived of its burdens, fixated on the promise of food.

* * *

The Fullmetal Mage stared at the innocuous wooden door before him. Dark, aged wood, its long use was written upon it with scrawling sonnets of chipped and splintered inches, uneven edges and warped imperfections. Beyond the door might lie paradise, or the bitterest of disappointments. Edward's hand lingered on the cool metal of the latch, trembling a little, and not from the bite of iron's cold. The flickering, guttering light of hall torches, lit by the Mage mere minutes previous, illuminated the door with dancing, fluttering light, bringing its shadows and hollows to eerie life.

Edward squared his shoulder and drew in his breath. What lay beyond might damn him to an eternity of bored mindlessness behind stone walls. It might shatter yet another hope within his shattered-glass breast. But he was not Fullmetal for a lacking of courageous spirit.

With a firm, decisive flick of his wrist, the Mage clicked the latch up and strode purposefully into the room. And stopped dead, his eyes growing round as a Druid's circle.

Thick, layered with grumbling, groaning years, weighed with centuries of history, antiquity, modernity, classical and classified, the deeply satisfying scent of paper and parchment filled his nostrils. The library's air was refreshingly free of the dank moistness that clung to the castle like smog to a baby's lungs, it was heavy with an entirely different sort of weight, dust and destiny, ideas caught forever by strokes of ink to rustling paper.

It was a room of silent, watchful ghosts, conspicuous by their invisibility, yawning huge and hushed in the stillness of the room. Edward fancied he could feel the brush of their breath on his neck and his fingers, still pressed to the door handle, itched to rub at his hairline, to scrub away the tickly tingle.

Hungry golden eyes roamed the shelves, never pausing on nay single title, aided by the profusion of massive windows, paned with rare, expensive glass, that lit the room as if it were a sunlit courtyard.

Happiness chirped to life in his belly, a gleeful-singing skylark, and a boyish grin curved his lips. A library to rival the university's upper archives. He might insist upon living here. Untidily-scattered desks, complete with crusted-dry inkwells and straggly old quill feathers, kindled hope for the composition of his research notes warm in his breast.

His term of imprisonment, at first an oppressive and strangling duty, seemed, suddenly, entirely too short. He wondered if he might prevail upon the Dragon to extend it.

Walking as if upon the crackling motes of energy he controlled, Edward set to exploring his new wonderland.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_

* * *

"You have been in the library for three days?"

"Erm."

Edward shuffled his feet under the Dragon's perturbed gaze. He had swum up from a deep trance within the castle's ink-and-paper haven only when an irritated _roar _of his name had registered over the babbling chatter of the books. Running through the corridors, it had occurred to him that he was ravenous with hunger, dizzy with tiredness, and his clothes felt vaguely musty and sticky.

Standing before the Dragon now, the Mage felt like he should perhaps have warned his host of the dangers of an Elric in a library.

Roy shook his head, peering down at Edward from his great height with an air of alarmed confusion. "What a strange creature you are," he mused, unaware of the Mage's corresponding thought about the Dragon. "No matter, I have a task for you. It is time to replenish the larders, come along."

Edward hurried to catch up with Roy, already consumed with curiosity. How, exactly, could he help with such a task?

* * *

It was with no small trepidation that Edward eyed the rickety rope bridge.

"That bears human weight?" he asked, dubiously, his fingertips itching to inscribe his failsafe 'stone bridge' runes.

The Dragon seemed amused. "It bore the Princess's weight with no difficulty, and I am quite sure that the amount of wrenches she carries with her equals that of your metal limbs."

Edward's lips twitched against his will. "But I have to carry a half moon's worth of supplies across it afterwards?"

"That, or starve."

"…You're too entertained by tormenting me to let me fall and die, right?"

Scaly shoulders rose and fell in a lazy shrug. Edward glared at the beast. "My thanks, generous host," he growled.

"I accept them with honour," came the reply, entirely devoid of any irony.

The Mage snorted and scrutinised the bridge once more. It was no small wonder that he and Alphonse has not seen it- it had been constructed (and Edward used that term in loosest possible sense) on the eastward-facing side of the castle, leading to a hidden trail on the opposite side that, Roy had informed him, ran a meandering path down the volcanic mountain's east face, craggier than the west but with a well-worn path wide enough to admit a decent-sized wagon, provided a sturdy enough pony could be found to pull it.

He wished he'd known about it before he and his brother had made the agonising climb up the western side. He still had bruises from the ascent.

He could feel the weight of the Dragon's eyes watching him, an inexplicable and inscrutable gaze that sought, as his own did, to catalogue and categorise every movement of the other. His captor was as fascinated by him as he was by it. He squared his shoulders, the burning brand of his pride refusing to dim and humble itself.

"It's a lovely bridge," he said, firmly. "Were I a poet, I would marvel at how its fragility represents something of the contingence of human existence and the delicacy of the human soul, poised, as it is, over the fiery threshold of certain annihilation. However," and he began to sketch out sigils in the dirt with the end of his staff, "I am _not_ a damn _poet_, I am a Mage, and I am _not_ risking my skin simply to enjoy the fulfilment of a metaphor."

Edward slammed his staff hard into the ground, striking the centre of his circular set of symbols, and concentrated. The magical array glowed, a faint blue shimmer in the air, and he felt the latent magic of the land, resting dormant in every rock, respond quietly, willingly, to the spark of magical energy that unfurled deep inside the human. Magic was a natural force, inert inside every aspect of nature, and a Mage's training simply allowed him or her to access that power, first finding it within themselves, and then using that pulse, the heartbeat of the world, to manipulate the universe around them.

He could feel his lips stretch into a grin as the slow, grumbling rock of the mountain dragged itself up by his urging, stretching out across the gap between the volcano's rim and the massive pinnacle on which the castle rested. Reshaping what lay at his feet was one of his favourite magical past-times- feeling how pliant and versatile the most obstinate of natural materials could be- the simple yet overwhelmingly strong will of rock, forged and formed over thousands of years, held no advantage against the steel and iron of the Fullmetal's resolve.

When the bridge was completed, a stark and sturdy contrast to the twine-and-spit contraption that neighboured it, Edward glanced up at the Dragon with a grin. The serpentine face was still for a moment, then lips drew back from glittering fangs in a reptilian smirk.

"Impressive," Roy remarked, stepping in two giant strides to the precipice to closer inspect the newly-formed promontory. Edward preened unashamedly. The smoothness of the simple construction gave it an unnatural appearance; Edward's skills were advanced enough that not even the telltale patterning of magical workmanship were visible.

A bridge without a keystone- Edward wondered what symbolism a poet might read into that.

Regardless, the Dragon seemed genuinely intrigued by the structure. The large black snout was lowered to it, sniffing at the stone, stretching out along the bridge as far as the long, sinuous neck would allow. He even rested a paw on it, scratching lightly at the rock with hooked talons and cautiously testing its strength with his not-inconsiderable weight.

Edward wondered, briefly, if he could make a bridge strong enough to bear the Dragon, startling himself with the thought- what would be the point of such a thing?

"Your appointment awaits you, mageling," came the dry reminder, startling Edward from his thoughts. The Mage glanced at the Dragon, who was inclining his head towards the bridge in a mocking bow. "If you are too late, I fear the fellow will simply disappear, never to be seen again, and then it would be a fine pickle for the both of us."

"You know," Edward remarked, stepping to the bridge and determinedly not looking down as he began his crossing, "it would be so terribly easy for me to escape, at this point."

"And yet, you will not. We have an agreement, Quicksilver wizard, and a Mage's word is as difficult to break as a tax collector's heart."

The Mage snorted, irritated by the Dragon's omniscience.

So much of magical practice was a devotion of oneself to words, to the precise craft of language, that one became inexplicably tied to the truth within truths. So many countless hours weaving miracles from mere syllables left Mages chained to their language, at once imprisoned and liberated, so that it was unsurprising that they should garner a reputation for riddling and speaking in circles. It was a necessary fundament of a Mage's life to choose his words as carefully as a Knight chooses his weaponry- it would take but a single rash sentence to bind one to any kind of fate.

And, typically, Edward had been made prisoner of the one legendary beast that might know and exploit such a fact. Life was, indeed, a trying affair. Bloody Dragons.

The vicious caress of the volcano's heat seared into the Mage's skin, and he was not yet halfway across when he was obliged to halt, trace out a circle about himself with his staff, and activate fire-protection spells. He had no desire to become roasted by a mere mountain, that was an appallingly commonplace death for one such as he. If he was to die in flame, then it had better be from a Dragon's maw or a Sorcerer's staff.

With a sigh of relief, Edward completed his perilous journey across the bridge and stepped down onto the mountain's outer surface for the first time since the day he entered the castle with his brother.

Alphonse…

Distractedly, Edward glanced back along his bridge to see the Dragon, curling into an already-familiar catlike coil. The beast had his snout rested on his tailtip, and his pearly eyes were firmly fixed on the Mage, startling in their scrutiny. The haze of heat rising from the lava between them granted Roy an ethereal quality that was somehow fitting to his mythical, elusive, illusory nature. Shifting air, the flickering, dreamlike miasma of vapours rising from the mountain's core thoroughly blurred Edward's vision, making him hesitate to look away lest the Dragon finally be proved to be hallucination, the product of his vast intellect and limitless imagination.

As he stared, Edward absently put out his staff to lean upon it. Caught in loose shale, the tip dug into the ground, and instantly began to slip, sliding out from underneath Edward with a swiftness not unlike the speed of a striking python.

His arms flailing madly, Edward yelped as the world swung alarming about him for a moment, then righted itself as he regained his balance. Coming back to himself, his legs splayed awkwardly, his arms thrown out and his robes in disarray, the Mage blow hair out his face with an irritable scowl. Nope, not even _his_ subconscious would be so cruel as to create such an undignified humiliation.

He had the distinct impression that, should he look up, his host would be wearing one of his insufferable draconic smirks. Edward huffed, straightened himself out, and spun on his heels to march imperiously down the path. Dignity and restraint, he had dignity and restraint, he absolutely would _not_ launch into a screaming fit and melt the treacherous rock into oblivion. He was pretty sure he could make stone evaporate, if he concentrated hard enough. Perhaps another time.

As the Dragon had said, some distance down the winding, treacherous path, a battered cart stood idle. A scruffy pony in sagging traces munched happily inside a nosebag, seemingly at ease with the looming menace of the volcano, shifting its shaggy-fetlocked hooves periodically. An equally scruffy man, obviously the pony's driver, was perched on a rock nearby, a pipe dangling between crooked yellow teeth, and a wide, insolent grin decorating his face. He had his thumbs tucked into the tiny pockets of his coarse waistcoat, and he hopped off the rock as Edward approached, removing his wide-brimmed hat.

Edward halted a couple of feet away and presented his staff, inclining his head with as much courtesy as he could manage. "Afternoon," he greeted the man.

The man's grin widened, becoming a positive leer, and he eyed Edward up and down. "You're a funny-lookin' Princess," he smirked, "Lost your tiara, mistress?"

Pure _shock_ held the rage in check. Edward's mouth dropped, as did his arm, the staff slumping back to his side. He stared, uncomprehending, at his new acquaintance.

"Now then, your Highness, no need to be shy, let's hear those dulcet tones of yours," the driver chortled, his pipe jumping with every merry word.

The Mage's hair stood on end as white-hot fury burst into life in Edward's veins. The blond hunched and raised his staff, the tip glowing red, his free hand lifting and clenching into what the magic textbooks referred to as 'the Casting Claw'. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE LOOKS LIKE A TINY LITTLE GIRL IN PIGTAILS?" the Mage howled, loud enough to mage the loose rocks rumble ominously.

Unperturbed, the other man placed his hands on his hips. "Dulcet isn't quite the right word, I see. If you're not a Princess, who are you?"

Assuming his very best haughty demeanour, Edward drew himself up, still brandishing his glowing staff, and peered down his nose at the scruffy, grinning wagon-driver. "I am a Mage of the Quicksilver Order," he declared, ice crystallizing hard and frigid in his tone, the very words clattering to the ground before him like a dropped gauntlet. "I have taken residence with the Dragon to further my research on magical beasts."

"Which is why you're doing his fetching and carrying, yes?"

Edward's eyes narrowed. "I'm not such a White Mage that I won't turn you into a beetle," he scowled, menacingly.

"Right you are, master," came the cheery reply, and the driver nodded, as if pleased by Edward's returning banter, then turned his attention to the content of the cart. Under Edward's still-seething gaze, a variety of bundles, each wrapped in brown paper and string, made their way to the ground at the Mage's feet. A couple of the packages were large enough to equal the size of a cow, leaving Edward little room to mistake the nature of their contents.

Once his task was complete, the driver unbuckled the nosebag from the pony's head, earning himself a disgruntled snort, and hopped up onto the driver's seat of the cart. He tipped a wink in Edward's direction, earning himself a second disgruntled, and undignified, snort, and clicked his tongue, slapping the reins against the pony's back to get it lumbering forwards.

As the battered ensemble swayed slowly out of sight, Edward had to restrain himself from turning the cart into a sledge to see how smug its infuriating driver would be after a much more harrowing descent down the mountainside. Turning his attention to the pile of goods, he considered them for a moment, calculating their rough mass and size, and then knelt to sketch out some symbols in the dirt with his dagger. Activating them with a touch of his hands and a concentration of his will, he forcibly levitated the items into the air, hoping he wouldn't run out of energy halfway across the bridge and dump them into the lava, and made his way back up the mountain.

When he reached the castle's shadow once again, and set down the bundles before the waiting Dragon, Edward was gratified to see a light of respect in the creature's eyes.

"I am impressed," Roy said, inspecting the pile of packages. "Such a load would have taken the Princess a good few hours to transport."

"I'm no Princess," the Mage grinned, then flumped down to sit next to the pile, wiping sweat from his brow. "Tiring work, though," he added, when Roy gave him an odd look.

The Dragon clambered to his feet. It was a fascinating process, each curving coil of his body appearing to move entirely independently as he uncoiled himself and rose smoothly upwards. Something of such great size should take more effort resisting gravity, Edward mused, entranced by the sleek flow of muscle under scaly hide.

Once up, Roy stretched. "When you are recovered, I pray you will not leave these items to spoil in the sun," he said, with a casual, dismissive air. "Good luck with the completion of your task."

As he stalked away, Edward just stared after him. He couldn't quite believe his ears; he had to fetch the goods, deal with rude bastard wagon drivers _and _stock the food in the castle? He was the _Fullmetal Mage, _not a goddamn porter!

Edward flopped onto his back and groaned. Stars, but Dragons were lazy bloody creatures. As soon as he was done, he was going back to the library, and he want coming out for a _week_. But first, he should probably change his clothes.

* * *

When asked, the Dragon waved a dismissive claw and shrugged emphatically; an easy task when one possesses an enormous pair of wings, and said, "Of course you may take what you wish. I doubt their ability to look fetching on _me _no matter how finely stitched they are."

Thus, ears burning, Edward began his exploration of the myriad of wardrobes and dressers that populated the various bedrooms. Much of what he found, to his vague disgust, had been consumed by moths or damp, and sat rotten and stinking in their drawers. The Mage was quick to toss the worst offenders out of the window and into the courtyard, with a view to asking Roy to practice his flame upon them as soon as was convenient.

Of the serviceable garments, the Mage was hugely relieved to find a vast array of usable undergarments. He was less impressed by the large selection of gowns and dresses- admittedly, being under a Dragon's care was more traditionally in the female experience, but there were not enough women in existence to validate the sheer number of silken apparel and velvet trappings that suffocated the less fortunate wardrobes. Furthermore, any male clothing that he did happen to stumble across was, more often than not, too…long to fit him adequately. The castle had apparently been peopled by a race of giants before the Dragon took it.

After several frustrating hours, the Mage paused in his labours, rubbing at the soreness in his lower back, and collated his findings. One of the rooms had been particularly generous in its contribution, providing him with a veritable heap of simple breeches, shirts and tunics, all in black. He'd even found some chunky black boots to replace his travel-worn pair, and several pairs of embroidered slippers to wear inside the castle. Moreover, he'd come across of trove of white gloves, most of which would need adjusting to fit, but since he tended to go through gloves at a rate of knots, he had few complaints.

His best find, however, was a (to him) rather stunning scarlet overcoat, painstakingly stitched with arcane runes, that fitted him as if he'd had it tailored. It was a pleasing addition to the slightly drab collection of black garb, and would be suitable imitation of the Magely peacock ways for the duration of his imprisonment.

The Dragon gave him an appraising look when Edward walked into the treasury, raising his head from its resting place on top of the creature's glittering bed. "A vast improvement," Roy declared. "You look positively decent, mageling."

Edward bristled. "I'm glad my attire no longer _shames_ you, my host," he snarled, then his eyes widened and he let out a gasp, fearing very suddenly for his life.

Roy, however, seemed amused by Edward's impertinence. "Courtesy had thus far restrained me from making comment," he stated, airily, and beckoned the Mage closer. "I wish you to tell me the story of this coronet- your divination skills allow you to read the life of an object's owner, yes?"

"It is a simple enough task, but requires much concentration," Edward explained, wondering, once again, at the Dragon's intimate knowledge of magic and magical practition. Encouraged, and a little mystified, by the beast's enjoyment of his cheekiness, Edward stepped closer, scrambling up onto the gold pile at Roy's urging. He unhooked the coronet gingerly from Roy's offered claw and examined it. It was a crude, vulgar thing; a thick, ugly band of gold festooned with big hunks of precious stones, gaudy and tasteless. He rather liked it.

The Mage hesitated a moment, uncertain of how close the Dragon wished him to remain, then settled into a comfortable, cross-legged sit mere feet away from his host, dropping the item into his lap.

Roy's lips curved back from his teeth, and he set his head down on his foreclaws, his coils shifting about as he made himself comfortable.

Edward tried to calm the thrumming of his heart, his excitement at the Dragon's relaxed proximity, and closed his eyes, raising his hands to trace symbols in the air above the coronet. Divination was the most elusive and meddlesome of the arcane arts, and required a level of concentration that the Fullmetal Mage usually deemed frivolous and unnecessary. It seemed churlish, however, to deny Roy's request when the Dragon took such an interest in Edward's magic. And, of course, it gave him a much-needed opportunity to study his research project close-up.

As the life and times of a barbarian warlord unfolded before his eyes, and as he spoke the tale aloud for his rapt reptilian audience, Edward couldn't help but marvel anew at the uniqueness of his situation. Here he was, half-metal magical genius, caught in the clasp of a firebreathing Dragon, whose only wish with him, it seemed, was to watch him weave magic and listen to him tell stories.

By the time he finished the tale, the Dragon's eyelids were at half-mast over his pearly eyes, and Edward had to wonder if Roy had heard the story at all, or was simply enjoying the sound of a voice besides his own.

Though stars knew, the creature certainly enjoyed his own voice rather well.

As the Mage set the coronet aside, Roy raised his head with a yawn, all of his very sharp teeth displayed prominently, and shook out his neck, shifting again with the faint, chiming scrape of gold on scale. "That was an exemplary telling," he said, once he'd found a more comfortable position. "One would not suppose such a bloodthirsty past to such an innocuous piece of tat."

"It is always crowns that have the bloodiest history. Swords can only kill so many, but a crown can have a nation decimated."

"Ah? You are a radical, little Mage?"

Edward's shoulders twitched, but he held back the rant with extreme effort. "I've seen what has been done to ordinary people in the name of kings," he responded, quietly. "You have one man in charge of a country, that could be thousands of lives in one hand. Not even Mages have that much power, no one should. And they're all a load of money-grabbing gits," the Mage added, slightly less philosophically.

The Dragon laughed, low and deep. "And yet humans continue to place their faith in the divinity of a single family's rule. Surely someone should have noticed the flaw in this world order? You are not all ignorant creatures."

"Hmph. I wouldn't be so sure. Humanity's pretty much made up of morons," Edward snorted, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "Except me and my brother. And Princess Winry, I guess. And my Teacher…"

"You attribute intelligence to individuals who influence _you _and dismiss the rest of your species? I wonder what it is you have seen, to make you so cynical," came the musing response.

Edward opened his mouth to answer, and found his mind, normally so full of words that they had to crash out of him or explode, completely empty.

The Dragon's next words were spoken softly, gently, and were rich with wisdom gained of a long life. "To live as one blinded to wonder, to the richness and value of the common things, is to live a life in which the shadows loom much darker, Fullmetal Mage. You are so incredibly young, to be so blinkered by bitterness."

The Mage squirmed, uncomfortably aware of just how piercing the Dragon's sharp perception was, and had to resist the need to duck his head away from Roy's gaze.

Roy eyed him a heartbeat longer, then turned his head away, closing his eyes and curling up on his glittering hoard. "Leave me. I have no further use for you, this day."

It was with an odd, aching sort of melancholy that Edward departed, strangely affected by the Dragon's remonstration. For a brief time, they had shared something, a moment of common thought and kinship, and then the coolness, the aloofness, returned to Roy's manner as if disdain had never given way to companionship.

Common lore had it Dragons were completely alien creatures, almost entirely resistant to study and understanding. Edward hoped yet to prove that concept untrue, but he could not help but feel disheartened by what felt like a failure of their first real, mutual interaction.

Sighing, the Mage took the steps back up to the safe space of the library- if nothing else, he always had the non-judgemental embrace of literature.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_

* * *

After the catastrophic attempt at civility, it was several days before Edward could face the Dragon again. When he was hungry, he slunk down to the kitchens and prepared quick, rustic meals as swiftly as he could, before sneaking back to the library or to his room. His perusal of the library had turned up a vast array of rare manuscripts, much on the subject of the origin of magic, and many disparate and unconnected texts of subjects as diverse as overseas exploration and the formation of snowflakes. It was an eclectic collection, to say the least. The Mage couldn't help but ponder who had amassed such a wide range of academic material, and in such a remote location. Perhaps the castle had a records room in which the information could be found.

The books on magical theory occupied the young Mage for a good week and a half, before he felt the hunger-pang-stirrings of his insatiable curiosity awaken inside him. No matter what faux pas he had committed, no matter what insult he had offered Roy, there remained the burning matter of first-hand Dragon study. Edward knew the strength of his own inquisitiveness. It was only a matter of time before it forced him to confront his fears.

Rather than be a victim of, well, _himself, _Edward eventually decided upon a course of background observation. Surely, if he was clandestine and discreet, he could make a detailed study of the Dragon without it becoming offended enough to thoroughly crisp him?

This plan, of course, required the Mage to silence the nagging voice in the back of his mind that informed him that he, the Fullmetal Mage, was utterly incapable of discreetness in any way, shape or form. It might have been a true observation, Edward mused, as he wandered the castle in search of his host, but that didn't mean he had to take any notice of it.

After a fruitless hour of searching dank halls, and desirous to feel the daylight caress his face after almost two weeks indoors, the Mage made his rambling way to the outer wall of the north-face of the fortress. And, lo and behold, there stood the Dragon, a gleaming behemoth in late-August sunlight.

Roy appeared to still be ignoring his existence. No matter- it allowed Edward to continue his study with much greater ease.

The Dragon was perched in a weird, hunched crouch at the very edge of the castle's rock ledge. His sinuous neck was curved so that he was staring deep into the boiling, broiling lava flow that bubbled beneath the fortress. Since dawn, the creature had rested, unmoving, seemingly entranced, and it was only now, with the sun at its zenith, that he was beginning to stir. Edward observed the Dragon intently as he uncurled himself, stretching up onto his hind legs (_oh stars, what a height he reached when he did that!_) to sniff at the air before dropping back to all fours. The great pair of chained wings lifted to catch the currents of superheated air briefly, the metal encasing each spine rattling with chiming tones as it was tossed about. Roy gave an odd shiver, every muscle in his body tensing and untensing for the tiniest moment, then he dropped back to a crouch, bunched his muscles tight and _launched_ himself over the edge of the rock.

Edward yelped aloud. Shock pinned him in place- what…what the hell was Roy doing? The immense black body had dropped like a boulder, with no attempt to slow itself. Surely Dragons didn't _kill_ themselves, and if they did, with so little warning?

The Mage ran to the edge of precipice, leaning over as far as he dared, and peered into the burning depths of the volcano. It revealed little to him. Humming his annoyance at his inability to see fully, he dropped to the floor and sketched out the basic levitation incantation with his staff in the dust, tracing them again over his chest with a fingertip then, with considerable effort of his will, forced his ungainly human body up into the air. The rising air currents from the mountain's core made supporting his flight substantially easier, but it still sapped his strength.

The molten rock continued to ooze and glow, showing no sign of having accepted the bulk of the Dragon. The Mage lowered himself, foot by foot, down as close to the lava as he thought safe, as close to the blistering heat as he dared. He stared at the bubbling mass below.

It did not take long for Edward's mind to start protesting his sustained use of such power-intensive magic; levitation was a temporary, emergency measure, only to be taken in the direst circumstances. Edward ignored the warning signs- he knew the exact limits of his strength and the disappearance of his host was far too interesting to be left alone.

When his eyes were beginning to hurt from the strain of scrutinising the red-hot surface, it was broken by the tip of a dark muzzle, then quickly followed by the rest of the Dragon as Roy swam up out of the lava. Edward gaped- his scales were _glowing_ with the heat. Talons dug into the rock face, latching into crevices, or simply creating new ones, and the Dragon began to haul himself up the vertical ascent, torturously slowly. Every movement was costing Roy dearly, the claw-over-claw slog required every inch of his body to clench in concerted effort to force his massive bulk up against the irresistible downwards force pulling him back. The Dragon's lips were curled in a snarl, his harsh breathing was audible even over the scrape of his scales against rock, and his impotent wings could beat only a little to provide relief from the strain of the climb.

Edward shadowed him, buoyed up through the air by iron determination of his will and magic.

Gradually, Roy hauled himself back onto horizontal rock. As he slumped into a heap, Edward jiggled the winds about him just enough to deposit him near the Dragon. He collapsed into a similar mess of weak limbs and overused strength, panting in time with his captor as they both attempted to recover. The ground of the castle courtyard was beautifully cooling for his heated skin, and its roughness would eventually urge him to seek a more suitable resting place, but it was enough for now.

Opalescent eyes flickered to him. "What were you attempting with that display, mageling?" Roy's voice was harsher than usual, rough with exertion.

"I could ask you the same," the Mage replied, too exhausted to care about how polite he was meant to be.

There was a rich laugh. Roy, it seemed, had forgotten or dismissed Edward's blunder. "_I_ was taking a bath. _You_, it would seem, were _spying_."

"A bath?" His own voice high with incredulity, Edward lifted his heavy, wool-packed head to gape at the Dragon.

"A bath," Roy confirmed. His scales were rattling along with the shiver of his muscles. "Something of an easier process when one is able to fly, I must admit."

Edward stared at the beast. The flippancy of his tone was a touch too casual, and the Mage wondered how much of a risk the endeavour posed to Roy. Whilst he could clearly survive the lava, and it had beneficial effect for him, if his strength failed on that final climb, would he succumb as easily as a human to a death by drowning?

Not for the first time, golden eyes wandering to the light chain about the Dragon's wings and wondered, _Why?_

Still glowing with heat, Roy shifted clumsily onto his back, the movement enough to make the ground beneath Edward shake, and wriggled, flexing his muscles like a rolling pony. The Mage watched him, quietly fascinated.

Roy glanced at him again, viewing Edward upside down with the top of his scaly head resting on the rock, and he stopped writhing in the dust. "There are many different types of Dragon," he volunteered, unexpectedly, in the tone of one answering an unspoken question. "We are of the elements- fire, water, earth and wind. Our eggs will only hatch within the embrace of our element- it was a volcano's fire that birthed me, and it is to that fire that I must return, to refresh my spirits. Is that answer enough, Fullmetal One?"

Edward was startled. Never one to miss an opportunity, he forced weakened muscles to push him up into a sitting position, and met the Dragon's gaze evenly. "It explains why you were not consumed by the heat," he conceded, his heart beating loud in his ears as he worked up his brazenness to question the Dragon. "But it does not explain how you make fire."

Roy's eyes flicked to him, quick as a leaping salmon, and Edward met the gaze squarely. "I'm a Mage," he said, his tone low with amused self-deprecation, "We want to know _everything_."

The Dragon stretched his forelegs up into the air, the great muscles straining as he did so, then rocked back onto his side, his claws screeching against rock for a long, spine-tingling moment, then he folded his forelimbs neatly under himself. His head tilted to the side, as it always did when he was considering one of Edward's questions. The Mage wondered if he would receive an answer to his impertinence, or another dismissal.

Some minutes passed whilst the Dragon decided his course of action. Finally, Roy spoke; "Are there any human theories as to Dragon magic?"

"A few. I made a study of them in preparation to…er…as a matter of interest," Edward hastily corrected himself. Perhaps it would be better not to inform his host that his studies of Dragon magic had merely been part of his preparation to join his brother's Princess- rescuing quest. "They focused on the elemental force tying Dragons to nature magics."

The Dragon made an approving noise in his throat, lowering his head so that Edward would not have to strain his neck as much to look up at him. The Mage was grateful- his overtaxed body was still berating him for his unprepared-for levitation session.

"There is truth in your words. Dragons are as old as the rocks which form the world, we were amongst the first to emerge from its fiery birth," Roy paused, humming for a moment, before plunging on. "In truth, you must have a basic knowledge of the origins of Dragons to understand our magical nature. In the beginning, the world was a different land; our stories tell of lakes of fire, oceans of towering ice caps, a time of scarlet and sapphire separated by the crumbling, cracking expanses of grey and marbled rock. That was the world newly born," Roy's eyes glittered, and Edward felt colour burst to life in his mind as the Dragon's deep voice wove strands of myth and memory into his fertile imagination.

"I do not know what human science makes of the universe, but we Dragons know that the world is of the stars, a sister to their light and life, and it shares their magic; once upon a time, every creature that lived on this earth was as the blood is to the body, rich in vital magics and energies, as intrinsic to its workings as the sunlight is to the harvest. Dragons are but one of many, many species whose lives wove magic as an artist weaves a tapestry." Roy's lips pulled back from his fangs in a smile that matched his wistful tone, and his face lit suddenly with mischief. "This is a tale of how Dragons made the world," he uttered, softly, with his typical quiet arrogance.

Entranced, Edward felt himself leaning forwards, shuffling closer to his host to better hear the rumble of his melodic voice. He found himself wishing fervently for pencil and parchment- his memory would have to do for now. It was an inexhaustible resource anyway.

The Dragon growled to clear his throat and continued. "Life is but a form of magic, did you know? It is of that same energy, that same starlit force, that formed the skies and seas, and that is why every creature has its own magic, like every natural thing has its latent power. In the beginning, that energy was the plaything of the Dragons, who burst fully-formed from the fire and ice to clasp and shape it in their claws. Our stories tell us how they feasted on that energy and grew powerful as gods, adding their own voice to the world's song."

Pride, unashamed, fierce pride, filled Roy's voice. "They made the first trees, the first grasses, and covered the rocky plains with them for miles around. It is Dragons who breathed life into the seas that had formed, who breathed birdsong into the skies and breezes into the grass. They made the world, built it from the raw stuff that had made _us_. Theirr battles, epic and grand, melted the ice and rent apart the land, forming countries and islands and myriad different landscapes."

Roy closed his eyes, perhaps painting the wonders of the past on his eyelids. "That was centuries ago. Millenia ago. All of the ancient ones died so long ago that not even their names survive."

"Do you think they had practical names?" Edward blurted out.

Roy blinked in surprise at the outburst, and chuckled. He was apparently appreciative of Edward's particular, wry humour. "I can only hope that one of my great forefathers was named as I. The image is a pleasing one."

A burning question in Edward's mind was slowly searing its way through his sense of decency, and it was not long before it dropped, white-hot, to scorch his tongue. "What happened to them? If they were gods, they might never have died, what happened to them? And the magic?"

Opalescent eyes flickered, darkened, and the Dragon shifted, curling tighter about himself. The fading of the white-hot glow in his scales from his 'bath' gave him an air of gathering sadness, a dissipation of his pride and delight in the story, a coalescing of sadness. When he next spoke, his voice was deeper, thick with that rich melancholy that seemed constantly to plague him. "I spoke of battle, Fullmetal Mage, but I did not speak of the _extent_ of those battles. We…we are a proud race," the chained wings twitched, metal jingling against scale as Roy spoke, "We are swift to anger, merciless in vengeance, and bestial in instinct. The power was overwhelming, all-consuming, and those Dragons that held it were driven mad with lust, envy, wrath…We are no better than humans," the Dragon quipped.

A show of his typical disregard for humans lightened Edward's heart momentarily- the Dragon looked so weighed down by his tale that the Mage was almost tempted to call it off…but his curiosity was ever his downfall, in judgement and sensibilities. And he recognised the words for what they were; an apology for the Dragon's harshness those days before.

Roy cleared his throat. "Anyway, I am quite sure you could tell _me_ the outcome of the Dragons' hunger for power and dominion; war. Terrible, horrific wars, litanies of blood and death, painting the fresh new grass with the stain of our sins. Dragon fought Dragon, using the very land as a weapon, and never fearing to strike at an enemy's heart with his own claws if necessary. The skies darkened with torn and ragged wingbeats, the endless cycle of dawn and dusk progressing to the screams of nature's tinpot gods. Darkness reigned over my people, and through them, and about them, and they wrought it as surely as they wrought the magic that bound them to the land."

The Dragon quieted. He lowered his eyes to the floor, where his foreclaws were digging deep into earth, clenching and ripping as if sunk into flesh. Edward felt the strangest urge to approach his host and offer the touch of his hand, an anchor of this present world to assuage the agony of the past. Instead, fearing the reception of such a move and the heat that still emanated from the beast, the Mage clenched his own hands into fists and remained as still as he could, hoping not to distract his host's thoughts.

After some minutes had passed, Roy looked up again, his claws relaxing minutely. "Even ultimate power is not limitless," he said, softly. "With the immense expenditure, the drain upon the world, the Dragons slowly began to fade, weakening, drawing closer to the dirt with every spell we cast. It took only centuries for Dragons to become almost as they are today, shadowed remembrances of a past long since destroyed. Rather than command all of the elements, with each decade that passed, we became tied to a single one- fire, or water, earth or wind. Hence," the Dragon paused to take in a deep breath and huff a flicker of flame into the air above Edward's head.

The Mage prided himself on his lack of girlish shrieking.

"With our decline," Roy continued, "the land, free of our control, began to germinate a vibrancy of life in it that only occurs in the succession of tyranny. From this, new life grew up, sprouting out like the trees and grasses that Dragons had so sculpted, and relying upon that green life for existence. As our magics faded from our control, they became part, once more, of the land, and from the land came birds, animals, the first humans, a raw and reckless abundance of life to replace the charter of death that the Dragons had wrought."

The black Dragon's scales had returned to their normal, cool, glossy shade, and Edward shuffled a little closer, hoping to conquer his nervousness about being in the creature's shadow. Roy did not pause in his story, but did noticeably fold his wings closer to his body, making himself smaller and marginally less threatening, encouraging the Mage's bravery.

"Humans soon ascended to the lofty position we Dragons had vacated- the genesis of magical study granted your people a power almost equal to the diminished power of the Dragons, and it was recognized by those of my kind who still possessed intelligence that we could either war with you, ally with you, or retreat to nature that had birthed us and have nothing to do with you. We chose the latter option, and those that can tell our story to each hatchling that breaks free of its shell, warning them of the folly of tyranny. My parents told that story to me, just as I have told it to you, mageling."

Edward's brow was furrowed as he considered those last words. "If that is so, why are there Dragons who persecute human settlements? Do you not feel resentment for the divinity you have lost?"

Roy sighed. "I spoke of diminishment, did I not? There were those who lost themselves completely in the fading of Dragon might. It was not only their divine power that was taken from them, but the spirit and intelligence of reason, sensibility, intuitive logic. Some Dragons became beasts, monsters, a burden to us as much as they are a burden to you. We do what we can to restrict them, but it is an unfortunate truth that they are bestial enough to rut like base animals, and breed with alarming speed. We who have retained a sense of decency court and woo like humans, which is infinitely more pleasurable, but does leave us at something of a disadvantage in productivity."

The Mage wondered if his cheeks were as crimson as his new red overcoat. The Dragon was completely unabashed by his frank words about breeding, but Edward was teenager enough to still find the topic uncomfortable.

"Ah, I have embarrassed you." If anything, Roy sounded _amused._ "Forgive me, Sir Fullmetal, have I been overly indiscreet?"

"No," Edward managed to squeak, somewhat unable to meet the Dragon's mischief-glittering eye.

Roy chuckled, a low reverberation of sound, and clambered to his feet, his scales rattling in a shiver. Edward noticed, with a jolt, that the light about them was dimmer, that the sun had descended considerably during the impromptu history lesson, and that the day's heat was just starting to flutter away like a nervous moth.

"I have been an appalling host to you this past week," the Dragon remarked, his tone softening from its teasing edge. "Will you allow me to make good my appalling rudeness? I am sure we might retain civility for longer than an hour, should both our tempers permit it."

The Mage was completely floored. Not for the first time, he had to stare dumbly at the Dragon whilst his brain attempted to catch up with the surrealness of the situation. Once it did, he leapt to his feet, grinning with his usual manic energy. "I am honoured by your graciousness," he responded, the politeness of his word belied by the belligerent enthusiasm of his tone. "I still wish to know that exact technique by which you create flame."

Roy laughed again, then lifted a foreclaw in a mocking gesture, ushering the Mage to step ahead of him. "Then I pray you, sir, enter and be welcome to my keep. We have much to talk about."

This time round, in their procession to Roy's sleeping chamber, it was the Dragon who had difficulty keeping up.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_

* * *

"You draw the fire from within? Is that some sort of mystic riddle?"

"And why, perchance would it be a riddle?"

"Legend has it that a Dragon's tongue is sibilant with more puzzles than a Sphinx could conjure up, why should it _not _be a riddle?"

"Your reasoning is sound, but your conclusion erroneous- what Mage conducts his study from the lofty vantage point of myth and conjecture?"

"One to whom no other path lies open! One who has nothing more substantial than legend and smoke trails!"

"Ah, but you, mageling, have the peerless advantage of a living, breathing Dragon at your disposal, wise and sophisticated, elegant and refined and knowledgeable…"

"Arrogant, obnoxious, indeterminate…"

"You do yourself an injustice, Fullmetal Mage, such a description is unworthy of your noble stature."

"…"

"My, what a fascinating shade of burgundy. Are all humans capable of turning their skin that colour? It truly is delightful."

* * *

Edward frowned at his notes. The tip of his quill, still soaked with coarse ink, tapped restlessly at the hapless parchment. Spots of ink covered the Mage's black and red attire, darkened his skin, even shadowed his eyes, where he had unthinkingly rubbed with inkstained fingers. The parchment leaves were a mess of hastily scribbled, half-formed observations, complete with rough sketches and the occasional frustrated scribble, where Edward had been unable to grasp his meaning within the fallible medium of language. The blond brushed the feathery end of the quill against his lips, then tickled it along the fine-haired line of his jaw. He had so many questions, and so few answers.

Truly, Dragons must be the most elusive of creatures! One could not even capture them fully with paper and ink, and a Mage's imagination. Roy was surprisingly accommodating of Edward's curiosity, even proving himself to be an effective editor of the paltry information that the Mage set before him. The Dragon was as eloquent in writing as in speech, and had suggested adding his own preface to the work- Edward's first thought, naturally, was to wonder if there was any bird living whose feathers might make a quill large enough for the Dragon to write with.

Despite his host's honest interest in the endeavour, however, it seemed that it was contrary to Roy's nature to make Edward's life easy. He insisted on feeding the Mage tidbits and fragments of knowledge, tiny wisps of fact that dissipated into useless abstraction as soon as Edward set pen to paper. It was infuriating, and what was _worse _was the extent to which Roy clearly loved provoking the Mage into a mindless, spluttering fury with his meandering, circular discussions and tiny, tantalising increments of detail that served only to stoke up the flame of Edward's curiosity.

It was enough to make the Mage seriously consider casting a spell of truth over his host, provided he could channel enough energy into it.

Sighing, Edward set his notes to one side and retrieved his pile of research materials; the books were proving about as useful as the Dragon, but at least they didn't have an irritating air of smug omniscience, like Roy.

It was a clattering of steel that drew Edward's attention from the ruby-encrusted grimmoire, some long time later; clattering metal and a triumphant _human_ shout.

Blinking, jerking up from his study was violent suddenness, Edward hissed as his cramping back and shoulders protested, then scrambled to his feet, straightening his robe and reaching for his staff- if there was a new human here, then it was the Mage's duty to either warn them off, or render them incapable of summoning a rescue party. The last thing Edward wanted was a motley band of would-be heroes storming the castle and disrupting his research with an ill-placed crusade of rescue. Grumpy at the interruption, he stalked from the library, his red overcoat billowing about him with a dramatic importance that the Mage could only approve of.

The clanking of armoured footsteps drew the blond's attention to the newcomer's position, and he hurried through the halls to the upper gallery that ringed the great rooms of the keep. He was heading specifically for the one that ran around the entire entry hall. Once there, he took up station behind a pillar, and peered out at the guest. His jaw, as it had become accustomed to doing recently, dropped.

The Knight who was striding across the hall was _huge_, a brawny figure half as tall again as Alphonse, and possibly three times his width. His armour gleamed with the polish of vigorous buffing, it shone with the expensive, solid sheen of quality that could only be bought. Edward quickly rubbed at his eyes with a mutter of incantation; when he raised his head, the light of the magical enhancements to the armour nearly blinded him, and he cursed as he undid the magic-detection charm. This was no ordinary footsoldier.

As he stepped forwards, making no move to mask his loud footfalls, the Mage observed the smooth precision of the armour's movements, the way it flowed about the Knight's form as if metal had been crafted into something as pliable as skin. Even from his lofty, shadowed hideaway, Edward could easily make out decorous, extensive engravings upon the steel, a kind of ornate embellishment whose sophistication just hinted at over-exaggerated vulgarity. The flashes of chainmail at the Knight's joints looked to be scale-mail, a horrendously costly type of mail whose upkeep was barely worth the excellent protection it offered. Even the leather scabbard hanging at the Knight's side- a massive, almost monstrous, object- was wrought with elaborate decoration and spoke of quality, old money and old values. Plus, the bloody thing was at least the size of Edward himself, which was pretty damn big for a sword.

Edward noted the confident, casual air of the man's walk; he might be strolling in a nobleman's walled garden, for all the relaxed assurance of his gait. One might never suppose he was penetrating the dark inner sanctum of a Dragon's domain.

In the centre of the entrance hall, the Knight halted. The helmet, with its pointed visor, swivelled this way and that as its wearer took in his surroundings. The figure's shoulders drew up, and the enormous chest, impossibly, _expanded_, before the Knight let out an earth shattering bellow.

"FOUL DEMON OF THIS FOETID WASTELAND! I, SIR ALEX OF THE HOUSE OF ARMSTRONG, DO HEREBY CHALLENGE YOU TO A RITE OF COMBAT, IN HONOUR OF MY FAMILY'S NOBLE LINEAGE AND IN MY SWORN DUTY OF VALOUR TO PROTECT THIS LAND FROM EVIL!"

Silence, blessed silence, met the Knight's holler.

Uncurling himself from his foetal position on the floor, with his hands clamped desperately over his ears, his limbs shaking with the aftershock of the great tumult, Edward clambered awkwardly to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. Stars, if the man possessed muscle to match his lung capacity, Roy was…well, not to put too fine a point on it, the Dragon was very much buggered. The Mage dithered, indecisive.

As he did so, a distinctly-irritated roar reverberated through the castle, accompanied by the heavy thudding footfalls of his approach. Edward had moment to consider his newfound ability to identify _types_ of Dragon roar, then his attention was entirely focused upon the grand entrance of his host.

Roy _stalked_ into the entrance hall, drawing himself up to his full height once clear of the corridor. His head was lifted in proud, domineering arrogance, nobly set upon his curved, muscular neck, and his tail lashed like an angry cat's. Even the gigantic Knight was massively dwarfed by the Dragon, rippling scale, darker than a bandit's heart and glimmering like the sheen off a switchblade. Roy planted his feet far apart, his claws screeching as they dug into stone, and showed his teeth, the tough scales of his hide rippling with power. He regarded the intruder with a snarl, clearly unimpressed, his lips drawn back to show off his teeth, a stark and serious warning.

Somewhat unexpectedly, the Knight responded by drawing his huge sword and dropping to a kneel, with a swift, assured grace. He bowed his head, clasping his hands atop the great bulging pommel, and said, "Oh Lord of the Castle, by right of the power granted me by the honour of my holy vows…"

"Silence! Save me the empty intonation of your promises! I care not for the feckless words of a Dragonslayer!" Roy growled, slashing furiously at the air with his right foreclaw to silence the Knight. "You seek to strike my head from my shoulders and bear it as your standard. Do not cloak your lust to kill in valour."

At that, the Knight raised his head, but did not climb from his prostrate position. "I am no Dragonslayer, Lord. I bear no rotting heads to battle, only the hopes of those I seek to protect."

Edward, entranced by the display, considered that such an exchange of words might be Dragon fighting etiquette; which raised the question, did Knight Orders know of the intellectual capabilities of some Dragons? And if they did, why was such information not made known? Long had the reputation of Dragons bore a black mark at the hands of Knights' tales.

"Those you seek to protect?" Roy snorted, a crackle of flame shooting from his lips in his anger. "You think me ignorant of this land's history? Oft has the name of Armstrong come to my ears, oft have tales of glory-hounds and fame-ravens ravaged my hearing. The House of Armstrong, fabled for its wisdom and courage, and ability to sneak up on sleeping beasts to steal their lives for the sake of yet another bard's adulation. I know of the lineage you so proudly proclaim, Knight, I know the stories as they were before the poets melted down and reforged them, corrupt blacksmiths to a man."

Sir Alex's shoulder's were shaking as Roy delivered his damning proclamation, and as the Dragon hissed his last, poisonous accusation, the Knight leapt to his feet (no small achievement under all that armour), and threw himself into classic fighter's stance, his swordtip trembling with what Edward could only guess was rage against the Dragon's slander. "Ghastly vermin! For that slight upon my family's honour, I _shall_ have your head!"

"Ah, the true heart of an Armstrong, at last you show yourself." Roy crouched, bunching up his muscles, coiling in on himself in preparation. "Good luck, Sir Knight. I shall enjoy picking you from between my teeth."

With a wild bellow, the Knight charged, whirling the sword above his head as he rushed at the Dragon. Edward's heart leapt to his throat and lodged there, panicked and fluttering like a startled bird, as Roy wrenched his head back and _roared_ his flame forth, a billowing, deadly supernova of fire that engulfed the Knight completely, an explosion of heat and conflagration that burst orange and crimson and gold in the air.

The Knight's scream continued. From within the blossoming heart of the fire, he emerged, his armour glowing cherry-red, and launched himself at Roy, who screeched his alarm and whirled, a pandemonium of writhing scale, ducking away to absorb the shock the attack and meet the sword with the hard bone of his forearm, not the vulnerable fleshiness of his chest.

Mystified by the lack of Knightly ashes, Edward let his eyes follow the brutal fight, noting Sir Alex's incredible swordplay and physical prowess as he became a silver blur, his barrage forcing even the enormous Dragon to adopt a defensive position. As he watched, Edward's eyes burned in a sudden reminder of his earlier magic-detection; there were enough spells embedded within the Knight's armour to withstand the flame of five Dragons, let alone one, it was no wonder Sir Alex had emerged unscathed. The Mage swore under his breath, his hands gripping the sandstone balcony of the gallery as he willed speed to Roy's limbs, strength to his blows.

After all, he knew the Dragon's propensity for mercy. He knew nothing of this stranger Knight from a bloodline of beast-killing.

As Edward watched in fretful anticipation, Sir Alex was forced back from his assault as Roy battered through his attacks. In a desperate, hurried attack, the Knight dove at the Dragon's side, his blade a deadly glittering arc too swift for Roy to defend against, then the Knight was scuttling away with a bestial scream ringing out behind him, ducking behind a pillar diagonally opposite to the Mage's standpoint, resting his back to the stone as he drew in ragged breaths, his shoulders slumping with tiredness. The Dragon, meanwhile, squatted in the centre of the hall, hunched with pain, curling about a gaping wound in his side. Edward swallowed hard; Roy's blood slicked the floor beneath him, so copious was the flow, and the agony of the blow was causing the Dragon's wings to strain against their bonds, flexing with spasms of pain.

Edward hesitated, calculating just how far he could project a healing spell in the space of a heartbeat, when Roy's head snapped up. An enraged howl rent from the Dragon's quivering chest, and he reared up onto his back legs, his foreclaws thrashing at the air as he fought to balance. Edward's heart, still shivering in his throat, stopped dead, as Roy let out a defiant cry, filling the keep with the Dragon's rampant ultimatum. The Mage, unable to remain still, hopped up onto the balcony ledge to get a better look at the Knight, who was drawing himself up with what looked to be a determination ferocious enough to match Roy's.

The Knight stepped out from behind the pillar. Edward's estimation of him immediately soared; none but a man of heroic fortitude would meet such a challenge.

Roy let out a guttural bark, still gigantic on his back legs, then he opened his jaws wide and a jet of white-hot flame shattered towards the Knight. In the wake of the fire, Roy pounced.

Too late, Edward realised the precariousness of his position. As the Dragon struck, the reverberations of his earthquake-impact set the entire castle a-judder, a shockwave crashing through the hall enough to dislodge the Mage from his perch.

With a helpless cry, Edward lost his grip on the stone, and his staff, and for a long, sickening moment, the world lurched about him, dislocated, flashing light and colour as he scrabbled at empty air, the wind rushing past him, his mind blank of anything but his impending death…

And he landed, heavily enough to batter the breath from his body, in the diamond-hard, steel-strong grip of a Dragon's claws. As he gasped frantically for air, he grabbed out wildly at the darkness that held him safe, his heart hammering loud in his ears, unable to process anything but the security that held him, bruised but alive, in a leviathon's hold. Edward could _feel_ the fear, lightning striking throughout his body, and he barely noticed Roy lowering him, gentle as a mothering wolf, to the floor and unclasping his claws to the lay the Mage upon cool slabs of sandstone.

Propped up on his hands, Edward watched dumbly as a reptilian snout, as big as a dog, nudged at him.

"You possess the most horrendous sense of timing, mageling," Roy growled, exhaustion making his voice even huskier than usual.

The Mage could not even gather together enough will to nod his head in agreement.

The clatter of metal on stone caused both Mage and Dragon to look up. Sir Alex's visor rattled to noisy stillness at the Knight's feet, and, with the helmet removed, a bald head was revealed, glistening with sweat that soaked even the man's dainty blond walrus moustache.

That was not, however, the detail that caught either Edward or Roy's eye. The shiny-pated head was practically glowing red with indignant rage, and the Knight's armour began to rattle as he shook with anger. "You _fiend! _You scourge of evil! You would imprison a helpless _child_? Does your wretchedness know no bounds?"

Sir Alex raised his battered sword once more, lifting over his head and bracing himself to storm forwards, his every muscle charged with righteous fury, when an unearthly shriek stopped him in his tracks.

"WHO'S A TINY LITTLE MIDGET SO SMALL A DRAGON WOULDN'T EVEN CHOOSE HIM FOR A SNACK?"

Before the Knight could register the source of the voice, an odd blue glow surrounded him, covering his every limb. He tried to move his head to better examine it, and his heart fluttered in his chest as he realised that his every inch was _frozen_, held immobile against his will, helpless to resist.

He tried to struggle, setting his considerable force of will against the walls of his magical prison, and ran up against the burgeoning, towering wroth of an extremely angry wizard. Edward, the shock of his fall burned away in the heat of his wrath, clambered to his feet, blond hair standing on end, and stomped over to the Knight, his right hand raised and glowing with the same blue light that trapped Sir Alex. When he was mere inches away, the Mage stopped and, with an impatient flick of his hand, forced the Knight to bend down so furious golden eyes could meet bemused blue ones.

"Listen, mate," Edward growled, sounding uncannily like his host, "you have two choices. Either you leave the castle right now with all of your limbs intact and your face not burned off or," the Mage snapped the fingers of his left hand, and a fallen chunk of masonry behind him exploded, "you can try calling me a _child_ again. What's it to be?"

* * *

Edward examined the flesh beneath his hands. The symbol he had traced out in the Dragon's blood continued to shine as he passed his hands over it to stir up the energy, skin and scale knitting together nicely under his watchful gaze.

"This would be a lot easier if you could keep still," he commented, wryly, as the Dragon's side hitched beneath him.

Roy didn't answer. With his head thrown back, and his entire body seized in convulsions of laughter, Edward doubted the beast had even heard him.

Not that he blamed Roy. The sight of the noble Sir Alex sprinting out of the castle without even stopping to get his horse was something that would brighten Edward's memories for years to come.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_

A/N: Here's hoping you all had a lovely Christmas, and wishing you well for the New Year!

* * *

The first chills of autumn whispered tentative and shivery in the sun that stroked Edward's back. The air was heavy, as ever, with brimstone from the volcano's heart, yet there was a clarity and freshness in it that spoke of the oncoming autumn. It was so clear, in fact, that the calls of birds from the woods surrounding the mountain twittered about Edward's ears.

The Mage, concentrated on the task at hand, barely noticed any of these details. He was knelt in the courtyard, and surrounded by a wall of black scale, and there was an inquisitive reptilian head, bent around on a long neck, that was blocking his light. Under his hands, the Dragon's side was marred by a jagged line of scar tissue, a souvenir of the attack by Sir Alex of Armstrong. Though the wound was only a week old, the healing performed by the Dragon's Mage made the scar appear as one amongst the many long-healed battlescars that covered the black hide. Edward was currently engaged in refining his work; the first healing had sealed the injury, but hastily-so, and such a deep wound required a delicate touch to ensure a painless recovery.

As he delved into Roy's flesh with shimmering tendrils, magical extensions of his hands that slipped as smoke beneath the Dragon's skin, Edward's ears began to ring with the throbbing beat of the beast's massive heart and the river-rapid-rush of his blood, which sparked at the touch of Edward's energy; magic always reacted to magic, and, as the Dragon's origin tale had told, Dragons were formed of the raw stuff of magic. There was a vast well of energy locked in the creature's body, energy that glowed with the intense beauty of a fire's embers, perpetually set to ignite at a tiny nudge of the Dragon's will. The flame the Roy breathed was an extension of himself as much as Edward's delicately-wrought magic was a part of the Mage.

Drawing back from his craft with a final satisfied smile, Edward was startled by the appearance at his shoulder of the Dragon's long snout. Even now, after several weeks, the beast's sheer size was a source of amazement for the Mage. However, he had lost much of initial fear of the creature- he felt comfortable to lean upon a warm scaly limb as he conducted his study sessions with the creature, or stand directly beneath Roy's chest, between his forelegs, as the Dragon demonstrated the versatility of his flame. He had even finally worked up the courage to request permission to draw the beast, which had already proved fruitful- his messy stack of notes now benefited from sketches of Roy's paws and the structure of his jaw.

If anything, Roy seemed flattered by the attention, and genuinely interested in the Mage's conclusions. The output of the two sketching sessions had been carefully examined by the Dragon, who had complimented Edward's ready eye and steady hand, and then proceeded to preen at his depiction. Edward was forming a suspicion that the creature had a sense of vanity powerful enough to match his natural arrogance and cultured eloquence.

Furthermore, the crushing melancholy that had, at the beginning, shadowed the Dragon like a poisonous, pervading fog, appeared to be clearing somewhat. Roy carried his head higher, strode with more purpose, and was more apt to let out a bark of laughter, or so it seemed to the Mage. When he allowed himself to think on it, Edward couldn't suppress a glow of warmth at the idea of his own, small effect on the Dragon's wellbeing. Though they had been acquainted but a few short weeks, and though the Dragon could drive him to a raging fury with the least of exertion, Edward found himself becoming…fond of his irascible host. Roy was an enigma, a mystery that the Mage burned to solve, but he was also Edward's landlord, entertainer, teacher, critic and companion. Long nights of note-making and intense manuscript study were curiously alleviated by a gruff summons from the Dragon, be it a maddeningly casual demand (Roy once asked him to pick up a small rock and move it three inches to the side, just to provoke the wizard into a frustrated rage) or an entirely unprecedented question about human conduct (for example, the Dragon was fascinated by the very _idea_ of public entertainment, and constantly dogged the Mage with enquiries concerning plays he had seen, concerts he had attended, even the most amusing jokes told to him be court jesters). The months of his 'imprisonment' promised to be an interesting journey.

Roy nudged him very gently with his cheek to get his attention. "Your work is thorough, Fullmetal One, you have my thanks."

That was another curiosity- the Dragon had recently changed his mode of address to Edward from 'mageling' to any and all variants of 'Fullmetal Mage'. The wizard shrugged it off as a further example of the mysterious arbitrariness the seemed innate to the Dragon's nature.

"You're welcome," the Mage replied, to his host's compliment. "It would not do for a captive to show up his jailor with shoddy craftsmanship."

"Such a pity it would be, indeed," came the dry response. "A tragedy made greater by your ensuing death by roasting."

"Did you just drop a gauntlet, O Scaly Master?"

"Do you think yourself able to match it, O Sorceror?"

Edward held the Dragon's pearly eye, then let out a surprised snort of laughter when Roy winked at him, cheekily.

"Perhaps such a challenge would be better meted out once you have had time to better hone your Dragon-slaying skills," the beast stated, airily, concluding his examination of his side with an approving nod. With a low growl, he unfurled himself, rising to his feet with much uncurling of limbs, and _stretched_ luxuriously, setting his chained wings a-jangle. Edward, confident in the Dragon's ability to avoid accidentally striking him, remained stood in the creature's shadow, shrugging out his shoulders to match his host's stretch.

Once every limb had been worked to his satisfaction, Roy rolled a single eye back to the Mage. "It is not like you to use the vocabulary of the duelling field," he remarked, casually.

Edward instantly recognized the inquisitive tone; the Dragon had a query in his mind, but was not, as yet, willing to chase up an answer. He wondered what Roy hoped to discover about him. "The rituals of that sphere are old knowledge to me," he said, cautious of the Dragon's intent. The stories about draconic love of wordplay had thus far proved true, and he had learned that it was unwise to speak unnecessary words until the Dragon had at least revealed his intent.

"Ah yes, you must have encountered that arena of human violence often in your life. Your armoured brother was a formidable opponent. A skilled combatant for one so young. To which Fellowship does he belong?"

At the mention of Alphonse, Edward's hackles began to rise, instinctively. His hand tightened on his ever-present staff. "Why would you know of my brother?" he asked his voice low, dark with warning as the ominous darkness of shadows in which ne'er-do-wells lurk.

The Dragon snorted, a little jet of fire bursting from his nostrils. He shook out his wings, the sunlight glowing through the thin membrane and shimmering off the metal rings there embedded. "Peace, Fullmetal Mage, I seek no quarrel."

Edward relaxed infinitesimally, but his eyes, glinting hard like amber or a wolf's irises, narrowed suspiciously.

Roy watched him, intently, then sank to the ground, reducing himself from hulking spectre to calm statue. "You are intuitive enough to have gleaned much from my reaction to our invader- I attribute no honour to the deeds of those who clad themselves in steel plates and courtly words. You also know that I have little patience for the scheming trickery of Mages."

Edward nodded, his still face hiding the fact that he had no idea that Roy disliked Mages on principle.

"You have proved to be something of an oddity to my notions; you are a peculiarity born of a world of straight lines and compliance. The rules that must have shaped your education and conduct have served to imbue you with a healthy disregard for regulation or authority; you would be mistaken if you thought your little rebellious thoughts had escaped my notice, Mage. My eyes are bigger than your attempts at self-concealment."

At the Dragon's amused tone, Edward couldn't help the twitch of his lips, and ducked his head briefly to hide it- he had never been an expert at cloaking his intentions or feelings.

"Thus," Roy continued, "I have recently begun to consider the possibility that your innate disregard for convention is drawn from your blood, and I might draw such a conclusion only from knowledge of your kin. Is your brother as fractious as you? Does he defy the archetypal corruption that marks the institution of Knighthood?"

The Mage considered the question, remembering the Dragon's recitation of the Armstrong household's misdeeds. Roy possessed, it would appear, some deep, unsettling insight into the human history that formed the parameters of modern society. Knighthood represented order, honour and valour, steadfast pillars of humanity, the groundrock upon which the stability of civilisation resisted the destructiveness of chaos. And here was a Dragon, a demonic pariah and traditional enemy of humankind, a creature whose nature and conduct defied the labels placed upon it by convention, a Dragon who now sought to colour the convention itself with the black taint that had daubed his kind since humans first began to tell stories of the monsters that existed beyond the light of nation.

Well, he could but tell the truth, no matter how convoluted the issue. "My brother is the noblest of men," Edward stated, with the absolute certainty of a man attributing blue to the sky or green to the grass. "He walks as one without sin, he seeks nothing but an end to the suffering of others, he carries his sword in defence of those who cannot stand. He fights, and stains himself with bloodshed, that others might never have to. Whatever corruption rests at the heart of Knighthoood, you may be assured that Alphonse could not be cleaner of it."

Silence met his proclamation. It made Edward suddenly, nauseously aware of his sermonising, grandiose tone, and he shuffled his feet, coughing a little as his cheeks reddened. "That, er, that's the fact of it," he added, squirming under the Dragon's implacable gaze.

"You must share a deep bond, for him to inspire such a rigorous and eloquent rhetoric."

"He's my little brother," the Mage responded, taken aback by the observation that, to him, was as natural and true as breath.

Roy tilted his jaw, baring his teeth in a smile. "And those four words are all the explanation needed?"

"Yes." Edward swallowed hard, meeting the Dragon's questioning gaze boldly. He was proud of his brother's honour, fiercely proud of him, fiercely protective even though his taller, stronger sibling could probably defeat even him in combat (no mean feat, indeed). And though they were now used to the long absences that kept them apart with Alphonse on his quests and Edward holed up at the university, it did not mean that he missed his brother any less ferociously. Only the passage of time had taught the Mage and the Knight to bear the weight of _that_ pain.

"Hm," Roy sounded sceptical. "I wonder."

Before Edward could take offence at that, the Dragon let out a sigh that ended in a second spurt of flame. "I have a brother, you know."

Edward's knees saw that statement as the opportune moment to deposit the Mage, gaping, on his behind. He stared at the Dragon, who unwearyingly returned his scrutiny.

"Not of the same egg, I hasten to add. But a brother nonetheless."

"…Really?"

"Indeed."

"I…hadn't thought…I mean, you mentioned your parents, but I didn't consider…"

Roy shrugged. Edward clasped his hands in his lap, wriggled about to make himself comfortable, now uncaring of the Dragon's views on humanity in light of this far more fascinating tidbit, and gave his host an expectant look.

"You are insatiable, Fullmetal. Where to begin?" Roy's claws tapped at the dirt, and Edward forced himself not to shuffle with impatience. "Well…First, you must understand that I use the term 'brother' lightly; there is no human equivalent for the word we use. My brother did not share my parentage, he was born of the union of two different dragons to those that sired me."

Edward quirked an eyebrow, confused.

Roy chuckled. "And you wish to know why I call him 'brother', if we do not share bloodlines? Ah, you humans have such concrete notions of family. You might share a common lane of birth, you might speak a common tongue, you might live common, interwoven lives, and you are not brothers? Such thought is alien to Dragonkind. One who drinks of the same waters, who runs and plays in the same shade, one who grows alongside you- such a one is your family, as certainly as one who shares your heritage."

"But by that token, kinship is nothing but the result of shared experience," the Mage protested, his brow furrowed. "Think you nothing of the sanctity of blood relations? One may choose any creature to be their companion, but the bond of kindred is inviolable, immortal; it binds together as surely and inexorably as the stars are bound to the night sky."

"It takes a single cloud to blot the stars from the sky."

"Clouds can only veil! They cannot forever cloak the light from view. Stars can only show their true brilliance against the darkness."

"And yet it is the brilliance of a star that brings us the illumination of daylight."

Edward spluttered at that preposterous claim. The sun, a star? Clearly, Roy had been in isolation long enough for his wits to sour like rotted milk. Before he could debate the point, however, the Dragon raised a claw to silence him.

"Regardless of the argument we might have on this issue, and I propose we merely postpone it to a later date, the fact remains that by my own judgement, I have a brother. May I be permitted to explain the circumstances of our upbringing, Sir Fullmetal?"

Roy's tone was thick with mock-politeness, and Edward quirked a grin, wryly acknowledging their ability to waste away the day in pointless debate, and gestured magnanimously for the Dragon to complete his tale.

The creature cleared his throat. "In faith, it is my belief that you will find the information most pertinent to your little study. As a fire Dragon, I began my life in the heart of a volcano. My mother laid her egg in lava, and it was the heat of the mountain's embrace that nurtured me whilst I grew in my shell. You are heartened by returning to your home, or to your family? That warmth gladdens my spirits when I return to molten rock, any molten rock."

Vividly, the image of Roy swimming up through the mountain's heart, white-hot and glowing, sprang unbidden to Edward's mind, and he smiled inwardly at the thought of a baby Dragon, cocooned and nourished by such a natural cradle.

Not noticing the Mage's amusement, Roy continued. "Mine was not the only egg to be laid in that particular birthing site- there was one other, sired by a smog wyrm and a flame Dragon. He was born of ash and smoke, my brother, born of the billowing, suffocating danger of rock and glass ground down to the deadliest of rain. He was ashfall, the explosion to my combustion, his flame was cinders and ashes, smothering even as it cut his foes to ribbons. Have you ever beheld a volcano erupting, Fullmetal?"

Edward nodded. His life had been populated by fantastical events, of which a volcano's fury was but one.

"Then you will know that ashfall poses a threat far more deadly than mere fire and lava. It is an all-consuming, all-powerful force, and that was the magic my brother wrought. His name was Jean."

So it seemed all Dragons possessed simple titles. Edward was barely surprised by that particular revelation, so often had he considered it. "Were you close?" the Mage asked, pondering the extent of the Dragon's definition of brotherhood. He knew his own could tend towards extreme but then, he and Alphonse were particularly dedicated examples.

"Close? Aye. The closest. Dragons are slow to develop, despite what you might think. Those of us from the superior bloodlines, in particular, are rich enough in magics that it takes years for us to grow into our power. Decades, almost. Jean was my companion until we were both fifty years of age."

Part of Edward itched to ask the creature just how old he was, if it took fifty years for him to achieve maturity. He restrained himself, with a considerable exertion of will, and contented himself with shuffling closer to the Dragon, his face positively glowing with eager attentiveness. "And then?"

"And then?" Roy echoed. The smile dropped slowly from his lips, and his head lowered. When he next spoke, his voice began to grow steadily hoarser, as if his brother's ash choked his throat, and the mournfulness of a funeral bell tolled ominous and melancholy through the words. "It is a pattern so ages-old that it must be written in the very foundations of the universe. Jealousy broke us part as surely as an earthquake breaks apart the rock of the world. Jealousy over the love of one we both admired."

"Love?"

The Dragon nodded, but remained silent. Edward squirmed uncomfortably in place. The gloomy downturn of Roy's disposition was reminiscent of the earlier days of their short acquaintance, days to which the Mage had no desire to return, no matter what insight he may glean from further discussion. He cleared his throat, tremulously, and inched closer to his hulking host.

"It…it seems to me that we…we stand upon uneven ground, Sir Dragon."

That caught the beast's attention. Roy looked up, raised a ridged eyebrow, and his whole body _squirmed_ in place, shaking despondency from his countenance as a dog shakes dust from its coat. "Uneven ground," he repeated, dryly.

"Y-yes. Our exchange of information has, has not been…equivalent."

"And to a Mage, no philosophy holds such sacred power as the tenet of equivalent exchange."

"In-indeed." Edward wondered how he had so swiftly lost control of the conversation.

"Well, if you wish to tell me something of your early life, I should be most intrigued to hear of it. Besides, you have not told me the story of why you are called the 'Fullmetal' Mage," the Dragon stated, after a moment.

Edward looked up at him, musing on the mild curiosity in his voice. He sensed that though the creature was interested, he would not press for an answer the Mage did not want to give. "It is not flattering in the picture it paints of my character," he offered, ruefully.

Roy grinned. "My introduction to you, as you will remember, consisted of you breaking into my castle and attempting to murder me whilst your brother stole my Princess. Forgive me if I am sceptical that your story could further blacken such a reputation."

"You'd be surprised."

The Dragon ignored him. He leaned sideways, his massive bulk re-settling itself with a lightness and ease of movement that such a large beast should not, by the laws of physics, possess. Edward watched him come to rest onto his side, tucking his legs under himself like a horse. Folded wings fussed for a moment, their light chains chiming. Once comfortable, Roy eyed him with keen interest. "I promise not to eat you, no matter how disgusted I am."

Edward laughed at that. Deciding that it would at least pass some time, and that telling a Dragon about his sordid past was infinitely preferable to watching Roy slump into depression, he nodded his agreement.

As he did so, a spiked tail flickered out to tap him from behind. Surprised, he complied, climbing stiffly to his feet as it urged him forwards until he had clambered up to perch on one of Roy's relaxed back-paws. Nervously, he lowered himself into a sitting position, wondering at the warmth that surrounded him radiated by the creature. This was infinitely preferable to the cold ground, even with the occupational hazard. A deep rumble from Roy's chest signified his approval (_Dragons purr? Another handy tidbit to entertain his readership)_ and the creature curled his head round on his long neck to rest it upon a coiled-up tail, a couple of feet from the young Mage. "Pray begin," the Dragon entreated.

In answer, Edward drew the white glove off his right hand to reveal gleaming metal fingers and a jointed metal wrist that disappeared into his voluminous red sleeves. Runes were inscribed across the smooth surface of the steel limb and a complex system of cogs and gears allowed him to flex silvery digits. To the trained eye, the sheen off the metal was a result of more than diligent polishing- the arm was powered by magic, lightened by magic and connected to the inner workings of Edward's body by magic, draining him of his almost-inexhaustible stores of arcane energy and filching his mind of its processing power. This was the reason why he'd devoted so much time honing his gift and training his mind. This was the reason why he favoured his left side, though the right was clearly dominant. This was why he could punch through glass with nary a flinch.

Slitted pupils widened with shock, but the Dragon was too wary of his captive to start upwards or draw closer to examine the metal appendage. "Fascinating," he breathed, studying what could be seen of the arm. His sharp gaze picked out the exact shape of the runic inscriptions, reading what he could of the complicated enchantments raised on what would otherwise be a lump of perfectly constructed but ultimately useless metal.

As if unsettled by the intensity of the focus, metal fingers began to fidget. "This is why I am 'Fullmetal'," Edward said, eventually. "It was constructed for me by the Princess Winry and her royal grandmother, with the aid of the High Mistress Izumi of the Quicksilver Circle."

The Mage watched the Dragon study his arm. Roy had reacted with curiosity_, burning_ curiosity, and an intense interest in its movement, but there was nothing of the expected disgust or revulsion. An oddly light, bubbly sensation filled Edward's chest- something that tasted a little like relief. His appearance or the opinions of others on it, had never mattered much to him, so he liked to believe, but to think that and then to be confronted with the sneering opinion of humanity at large were two very different things. That a creature so intrinsic to this world, so intertwined with the ebb and flow and heartbeat of existence, would not find his deformity horrific was…strangely uplifting.

Emboldened, Edward shrugged his outer robe off his shoulders and set to work on the buttons of his black jerkin, tugging it open to reveal a black vest and his bare shoulders- one dark silver, the other pale gold. Again, the Dragon made no move closer. He seemed content to scrutinise the arm from a distance.

It was an attempt, Edward realised, to spare the Mage the effort of disguising his fear.

Humbled by the gesture, so casual, so unthinkingly generous, he lifted his hand into the air, unbidden, and began to twist and rotate the limb, demonstrating the (few) limitations in its range of movement. Roy tracked it exactly, focused entirely on the flickering glint of light off steel. Well, Dragons _did_ like shiny things.

"You were…involved in battle? Is it not odd for young humans to become embroiled in conflict?"

"No. It was nothing like that." The metal arm dropped and Edward pulled his outer garments back on, but leaving the gloves aside for the moment. Golden eyes dimmed as the Mage lowered his head, studying the evidence of his sin. "I…I tried to summon a demon."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_

A/N: Many apologies for the erratic update schedule, I had to grapple with this chapter like a wrestler fighting an elephant, added to which I have returned to uni, so such a scattered distribution of chapters may continue, for which I apologise in advance. Many thanks for your patience, dear readers.

_Italics indicate an event that occurred in the past._

* * *

The low, continuous rumble of the volcano was a sound that Edward had grown accustomed to, during his time in Roy's keeping. However, with the complete, unnatural silence of the Dragon that met his last sentence, the Mage found, once again, that the growl of the mountain sounded loud and ominous in his ears. He kept his eyes fixed on his mismatched hands, awaiting verdict.

"You surprise me, Fullmetal One. I expected a far darker deed than that."

Edward nearly fell off the Dragon's claw in shock.

His appalled look at Roy was met by a laconic shrug. "What is a demon but an elemental force, lambasted by human society? Admittedly, the element they serve is chaos, and the black tales of their evil are entirely justified, but in basic substance and form, they are little different to we others who find ourselves on the receiving end of human wroth."

"But…demons steal men's souls to use as their playthings!"

"Nobody's perfect."

Edward continued to gape. The Dragon met his gaze coolly for about half a minute, before grinning widely. "I kid, of course. Those of demonic heritage are truly deserving of their reputation. Pray continue."

"O-of course," the Mage stammered, then marshalled his thoughts. He looked down again at his clenched fingers, twitching his metal fist open to stare at the smooth, shining palm. "It…makes little sense, as a tale, unless you know something of my upbringing. I was born twenty winters ago, in a small village within the King of Amestris' domain, called Risembul. It had a single, old Knight in residence to keep the peace and register the taxes, and its inhabitants were divided between those who frequented the _Nag's Head_ and those who preferred the _Black Bull_."

Roy's ears twitched forwards. "It cannot have been so small a place, with two inns to water its people."

Edward had to smile. "But not big enough to warrant its own village healer. I think perhaps the ale served as a substitute for medicines. Luckily, Risembul possessed the services of a skilled a dedicated herbalist to tend to its wounds. My mother."

The Mage closed his eyes, summoning the beloved image from his memory. "I always remember her hands first," he said, wistfully, his voice soft with recollection. "They were unusually soft for a working mother, and ever-rich with the scents of nutmeg and rosemary, laurel and ginger. She had strong wrists from pounding and crushing and mixing herbs for her medicines, but her arms stayed thin. She was never a big woman, the men of the village towered over her, but she held their respect like the reins of a carriage horse. Her hair was the colour of ripe horse-chesnuts, and just a glossy. Her eyes were greyer than a frozen stream in midwinter. The back of her neck was always sun-burned from collecting ingredients, and I never saw her without a smile on her face. Even when she returned home from a stillbirth, she could smile for my brother and I. In fact, I remember one occasion when…"

* * *

"_Edward! Edward! If you don't make an appearance in the next three seconds, I'm going to be incredibly cross with you, young man!"_

_Trisha of Elric had to struggle very hard to conceal her burgeoning smile as her scruffy eldest son obeyed with alacrity. Quick as a rabbit from the undergrowth, the five-year-old scrambled out from underneath the kitchen table and piled to a halt before her, blinking big golden eyes up at her. Eternally-wrinkled, Edward's bright tunic and trews were pale and dusty with white powder, and the little boy's round face and blond hair were ghostly-pale. His mother folded her arms, her lips twitching to escape the stern line she forced them into._

"_Well?"_

_The boy continued to blink, innocent as a lamb, the effect only partially ruined when some of the powder that coated him caused him to sneeze, violently. _

_Trisha raised en eyebrow. "Edward, why are you, and the pantry, covered in flour?"_

_Edward looked down at himself, lifting a podgy hand up to examine it, his face comically twisted in an outrageously exaggerated pretence of surprise. He glanced up at her, his jaw hanging open in pantomimed shock._

_She nodded, solemnly, inwardly applauding her little boy's intelligence and acting skill. "I suppose you were just playing in the corridor, like I asked, and you weren't even _thinking_ about looking in the cookie jar, and then you just happened to fall into the pantry door, accidentally bang the shelf, and knock the cookie jar to the floor, which then, surprisingly, spilled flour over everything?"_

_Following the argument with grave nods of his head, Edward expressed his guileless surprise with a widening of his eyes to quite alarming proportions._

_Trisha couldn't help it. She collapsed into helpless laughter, bending at the waist to scoop her son into her arms, cuddling him close as her shoulders shook, burying her face in his floury neck as he flung chubby arms about her. "Oh Edward," she laughed, uncaring of the whiteness that now coated her as well. "Oh, my little trickster, what would I do without you?"_

_The gold-eyed boy didn't reply, just smiled up at her, bright and charmingly roguish as ever. She kissed his cheek, chuckling again when he brushed the resulting flour from her lips. "Come along then. Let's go and find out if Alphonse is still guarding the _real_ cookie jar from dangerous big-brother rapscallions."_

* * *

Edward opened his eyes and focused on pearly orbs, which were regarding him with a kind of warm understanding. "She sounds quite remarkable," the Dragon murmured, low enough that his voice was guttural with a growl.

"She was."

Roy's head snaked closer along his tail as his whole body rippled with sudden movement. "'Was'?"

"She…she died." Edward had to swallow around the lump of misery that lodged in his throat with the words, no less hard and bitter for all the years that had passed. "She died when Alphonse and I were children."

"My condolences."

"Thank you. It was…far too soon. She deserved better than the disease that withered her from the inside out."

"Could nothing have been done?"

Edward sighed, blinked mourning from his eyes with stray tears, and met Roy's gaze squarely. "She never told anyone. Not even her husband. Nobody knew she was anything other then perfectly healthy until…one day, when I was ten, and Alphonse nine, she simply collapsed. The whole village came together to pay for a doctor for her from the nearest town, but it was too late. We could only make her comfortable and wait for her to pass on."

Roy lifted his scaly head. "None would envy you such hardship. The bleakness of life intruded upon a time where only innocence should have existed. How did you continue without her? You mentioned a husband- your father, I presume?"

"_Him_?" Edward spat, fiercely. "That _man_ disappeared before Alphonse was privy-trained. Those who know his name speak of his fame, his intelligence, his kindness to even the lowliest people, but they do not tell of how he _abandoned_ his family. He is renowned as one of the greatest magic users to have ever existed, but whilst his wife raised his children, she was dying without him. Not a day goes by that I do not curse the name 'Hohenheim'."

"Hohenheim, as in, Hohenheim the legendary Sorceror of Light?" the Dragon interrupted, one of his heavy brow-ridges lifting in question. "Even _I_ know that name. He has not been seen upon this world for nigh-on a decade, so I believe. You are descended from magical royalty, Fullmetal."

"I would that I could purge his blood from my veins," the Mage swore, fervently. "There is nothing of him in me."

Roy sighed. "Indeed, the value of infamy is as weeds to roses compared to the value of fatherhood."

Edward twisted the hem of his robe in his fingers, needing to occupy his hands before he broke something. "We had no need of him. But…but Mother loved him," he spoke the words with furious confusion, baffled by the concept. "She loved him, and he handed her a lifetime of hardship and loneliness. After she died, we were taken in by the village Knight- Mother had no family who might have looked after us. She certainly had no relatives in or near Risembul; I have often pondered what reasons led her to settle there, what part my _father _played."

The Dragon seemed unconcerned by Edward's vitriolic viciousness towards the very mention of his father. "You think perhaps theirs was a union unapproved by your mother's family? That they had a runaway marriage?"

"I…suppose it possible. Whatever the reason, I cannot deny that my mother loved my father with devotion unmatched by any in this world. He repaid her with betrayal."

Both Mage and Dragon fell quiet at the last, damning statement. Edward focused on calming his rapid, angered breathing, and regaining his composure. Roy, with his languid, reptilian patience, waited still as a stone for him to continue.

Eventually, the Mage cleared his throat and carried on, unfisting his hands from his robe. "The year that followed our mother's death was the hardest that Alphonse and I ever experienced. We…were blind without her, lost, and the only light and comfort we found was in each other. Alphonse was…_is_ my temperance, the steady rock to my raging seas, and whilst I held him at night when he cried, he dragged me from my books during the day, that I might see the sun once in a while."

* * *

"_Big brother! Big brother! Sir Willoughby wants you to finish cleaning his greaves!"_

_Ten-year-old Alphonse Elric, later to become Sir Alphonse of Elric, People's Champion, pottered through the dusty, neglected corridors of what, until a year ago, had been his family home. He was, unsurprisingly, searching for his errant older brother. Edward had taken to sneaking away from Sir Willoughby's house and secreting himself in their father's old library for hours on end. Whilst the old Knight approved of the eldest's thirst for knowledge, the illicit methods employed by the boy did wear on the chivalrous Sir Willoughby's nerves, and more often than not, it was the duty of the more dutiful Alphonse to bring his brother back to heel._

"_Big brother?" Alphonse called again, a tremulous not entering his tone. It was unlike his beloved sibling to ignore his calls. In fact, he had _never_ been ignored by his brother. The silence that met his summons was portentous, to say the least._

_To Alphonse, however, the ominous overtones of the situation mattered little. His lower lip began to tremble as he faltered his way through the strange-familiar halls, his hands clutched in the hem of his tunic, his sandals making tiny scuffling noises against the dusty floor. "Big brother, where are you?" His voice was growing more high-pitched in worry with every passing second. _

_Edward was Alphonse's world. It made no sense, that he should not reply. The _world_ made no sense, without Edward's presence, his voice, the self-righteous blaze of his anger, the bark of his laughter._

_The boy was seriously considering bursting into tears (an extreme measure, only to be taken in the gravest of emergencies) when a blond head peeked out into the corridor._

"_Al!" came the excited (and completely guileless) cry. "Get in here, quick, I've found something brilliant!"_

_The little brother broke into a run, his heart pounding with relief. "Brother, that was mean!" he scolded, fear mutating with great haste into indignation. "Why didn't you answer? I was shouting for ages!"_

"_Yes, yes, sorry, but this is…it's just _brilliant_."_

_Wondering what could possibly be 'brilliant' enough to deafen Edward to his calls, Alphonse trotted obediently into the room, stopping dead in the doorway when he caught sight of what his brother had been up to. The old playroom was littered with books, every surface covered in half-unrolled scrolls, or carelessly-discarded parchment sheafs, and every page was swathed in line after line of cramped, slanting script, thick and splotchy with the writer's haste._

"_Wh-what's all this?" Alphonse asked, his voice high with disbelief. He toed a book out of his path with excessive care and, using the spare inches of bare floor like stepping stones, gingerly made his way over to his brother._

"_These are _father's_," Edward grinned, smugly, "And I can understand them. He can't be as clever as everyone says, if a boy can work his magic."_

"_Magic?" Alphonse's eyes grow wide and round as saucers. "Really, magic?"_

_Edward gave a big-brotherly, disdainful snort. "Of course." He lifted his hand into the air, posed with his legs apart, pointed at one of the books and declared, with dramatic flourish, "Faladras!"_

_The book shivered, as if chilled by the words, then, as Edward glared at it, going red with exertion, it lifted, inch by slow inch, into the air. It hung suspended for several heartbeats, then Edward let out a gasp, clapped his hand to his forehead, and collapsed to his knees at the same time as the book thudded back the floor._

"_Brother!" Alphonse knelt, hurriedly, and grabbed the older boy's wrist. "Brother, are you well?"_

_The grimace of pain quickly morphed into a beaming grin and Edward raised his chin, proudly. "Al!" he exclaimed, excitedly, "I'm going to be a wizard!"_

* * *

"I should have known that you would be precocious, Fullmetal."

"Precocious and foolhardy; I thought myself an adult, already, having read an old man's notes on his own speciality," Edward sighed, shaking his head as if in disapproval of his younger self. "I was so ignorant of magic, thinking only of the beautiful words and flashy effects I could achieve. I possessed much of the vanity of youth, and with only Alphonse to temper me, I grew wild in the ways of Light's magic."

* * *

_The knocking at the big oak door went unanswered for some time. _

_Eventually, driven grumblingly to answer it himself by the inadequacies of his adopted pages, Sir Adelard Willoughby drew open the door, leaning heavily on his cane, with an apology already on his lips._

_His visitor brushed aside the courtesies with a smile and offered him a polite bow. "My name is Izumi Curtis," the dark-haired woman said, bringing forth a scroll from the depths of her thick travelling cloak. She gestured to the hulking bear of a man beside her. "This is my husband, Sig. We seek the children of Light."_

_The old Knight's eyes widened at the credentials upon the scroll, and he hurriedly ushered his guests in, directing them to the cosy reception room and ringing his loudest bell to summon his mostly-deaf housekeeper, from whom he requested the finest refreshments in the pantries, and quickly._

_By the time he had hobbled back to the sitting room, the pale woman was seated comfortably in an armchair, her husband declining to sit in favour of standing behind her chair, with his hands rested on its back. She was dressed simply, a white shift tied over tight black trews, but at her breast, she wore a brooch proclaiming her title, and the Knight was at pains to recollect his gallantry, not stare overmuch._

"_I am afraid the boys are not answering my summons," Sir Willoughby began, as he lowered himself cautiously into a chair, "Though, indeed, you are welcome guests of my house for as long as you wish to stay."_

_The woman smiled, warmly, in response. "You are most gracious, Sir," she thanked him. "I fear that your duties in the village must not be neglected in our favour. One interview with the boys should be sufficient to ascertain the information we seek. If I may make so bold; Sir Willoughby, you appear to be greatly troubled with stiffness in your joints."_

_The arrival of the tea and cakes distracted all attention for a moment, but once all three were comfortable with their refreshments, the Knight answered the woman's shrewd observation._

"_I was not always the doddering old man you see today," he said, brushing crumbs from his thick moustache. "Once upon a time, I was as valiant an ogre hunter as any; alas, too valiant, I think, one does suffer from battler wounds long after they have healed. The scars play up in the damp cold of spring and autumn, but they do not trouble me."_

_Izumi smiled. "I fear your courage outweighs your candour, Sir Knight. If you will permit me?"_

_At Sir Willoughby's nod, the woman set aside her cup and came to kneel before him, bowing her head and raising her arms, hands perpendicular to her arms, palms facing outwards toward the Knight. She murmured under her breath, a soft incantation, and her hands began to glow with gentle green light. The glow suffused through the air, curling into smoky tendrils as it sank slowly over the Knight, enveloping his stiff and aching limbs in soft warmth. _

_Sir Adelard could not suppress the relieved sight that escaped his lips, and the light gradually died away with the fading of the pain. Izumi sat up, her task completed, and regained her feet. "A small gift, to thank you for your hospitality," she said, with a bob of her head._

"_You are too kind, Mistress Curtis."_

"_Not at all sir." As she spoke, her black eyes darted to the door, and she raised a hand briefly to her lips, giving the Knight a conspiratorial wink. "In fact, I fear I have not completely healed your ills."_

_The Knight grinned; her healing was complete, but he suspected she had a different purpose in mind, and required a cover for her actions._

_Still standing, the woman raised her hands once more, tracing symbols in the air that glowed silver as her clever fingers traced them out. When five dissimilar sigils hung in the air before her, she whirled to face the door, wrenched her right arm back and then flung it forwards, as if she were casting a dagger._

_Joint shrieks sounded from the hall as the silver symbols disappeared into the corridor and, seconds later, Sir Willoughby's mischievous charges were dragged unceremoniously into the room, struggling in the grip of Mistress Curtis' magic. Edward was particularly enthusiastic to be free, golden eyes narrowed in a glare at the strange woman._

"_Let us go!" he demanded, "Let us go, or you'll regret it."_

_A feline smirk curved Izumi's lips, and she leaned her weight on one foot, nonchalantly resting a hand on her hip. "Shall I, indeed?" _

_The boy snarled, ignoring the warning chatter from his brother, and spat, "Lashka!"_

_Flames burst from the air before his mouth, scything towards the woman with a ferocity that brought both the Knight and Sig lurching upright. However, Izumi seemed merely amused by the assault. She waved a dismissive hand, dissipating the flames into nothing, as if they had never existed. _

"_Is that the extent of your power?" she asked, coolly mocking._

_Edward's mouth hung open, pure shock written across his face, but he started at the insult and curled his fingers into a fist, his arms still bound by his side. "If my hands weren't tied-" he began._

_With another wave of her hand, Izumi unravelled the bright cords that pinioned the boys, sending Alphonse to the floor with a thud. Edward staggered as he was set down, then hunched his shoulders, angrily. He pointed at the aggravating woman and shouted an incantation._

_This time, a forked jet of lightning shimmered from his fingertips, and Izumi merely yawned, twirling her fingers enticingly. The bolt, never slowing, curled about her hand instead of striking her, and she blew lovingly on it, transforming it into a handful of ash that fluttered to the floor._

_This exchange was repeated back and forth several times. With each unsuccessful attack, Edward grew more red-faced and weary until, halfway through an incantation, he stopped, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped to the floor._

* * *

"How…unorthodox."

The Mage couldn't help but laugh. Roy's voice contained nothing of the surprise that had lifted the Dragon's heavily-ridged brows, only dry amusement. "When I recovered my senses, I was laid upon the sofa, with Alphonse standing over me, talking to that infernal woman."

"And who is she, this 'Izumi'?"

Edward tapped the insignia engraved on the shoulder of his metal arm. "Her name sounds humble, but she is the High Mistress of the Quicksilver Order, leading intelligence and combat Mage of the Mercury Circle. She is the founder of that august hierarchy of magic-users, who seek out the brightest of gifted children to draw into their wizardly ranks. She had been seeking us for some time, drawn to the person who dared to use Light's keywords to cast silly, insignificant magics."

"Your father developed his own incantations?"

"Yes- he must have been good for something. But his magic tapped into the very blackness of the world's shadows, and Mistress Curtis was quick to drum that language from my brain. I was personally apprenticed to her, and she saw to it that my training was as vigorous as any Mage's."

The Dragon eyed the Mage, scrutinising the hard muscle of his arms, bulging in the thin material of his black breeches, and remembering, perhaps, the casual, nonchalant arrogance that accompanied his every casting. "She was a thorough master," he concluded, with the air of one giving high praise.

Edward bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. "She took me away, to her home in the wilderness, for a year, to complete my training. I was allowed no contact with the world beyond her domain for that entire time, except for the occasion of my brother's birthday."

"A hardship not to be borne."

The Mage shrugged, grown beyond the anguish of that bitter, lonely year. "As my skills grew, I was able to scry with increasingly accuracy upon Alphonse's life. And the strength of our love rendered communication childishly simple, once I mastered the spell; there is nothing to a communing of minds, when one's spirits are bound as tightly as ours."

"Remarkable. And when your gruelling year of slavery was done?" Roy smirked, teasing.

"I was released, a certified Quicksilver Mage of twelve years, free to return to my life. I do not believe that I was wiser- but now I had the power and skill to protect myself from my own stupidity and vanity."

"It is admirable in one so young to find such easy recognition of your shortcomings," Roy said, blandly, but before Edward could react, the paw he was sitting on twitched beneath him. "If you would excuse me, Fullmetal?"

The Mage hopped obligingly to his feet, surprised to find himself stiff. He stretched, easing tension out of his muscles, and was amused to see the Dragon doing the same thing.

Roy pushed his foreclaws forwards, his haunches rising into the air as he arched his back, stretching his front legs like a cat. With a rush of air, his wings snapped open as far as they could, and he drew himself upwards to stretch his back legs, blotting out the sun with his vastness. The wind from the Dragon's leisurely movement brought Edward's attention to the chill in the air- the sun was just beginning to drop in the sky, afternoon just beginning to consider shading through to early evening. Strange that but a few hours had passed, yet human and Dragon had shared so much of themselves.

Fading sunlight struck the Mage's eyes, causing him to blink and re-focus on the present. Roy had moved out of his eyeline, walking about him in a tight, clockwise circle, like a dog finding a spot to settle, his thick tail lashing the air. After a couple of dizzying circuits (Edward dare not move lest he step in the creature's path), the Dragon slid easily to the ground, curling up once again. A pearly eye cocked itself at Edward, and Roy gestured to his back paw, invitingly. The Mage scrambled up, with haste.

"Now that I know of your upbringing, Fullmetal, I pray you will not recoil from telling me how you, freshly-minted Mage, came to dabble in the darkest of arts."

"Of course." Edward paused a moment to marshal his thoughts, pondering how best to frame the tale. A queasy buzz set up in his stomach as the memories replayed in his mind, and he had to swallow hard to force the vile black bitterness back. "It really begins four years ago, with the day my brother was knighted…"

* * *

_Gazing up into the craggy, dignified face frowning down at him, Alphonse couldn't help but suppress a shiver. The old Knight, possessor of no fewer than twelve title of the realm, had taken him as page merely as a favour to Sir Willoughby. Once his brother had left the village, Risembul held nothing but melancholy for the youngster, and their kindly benefactor had taken it upon himself to give the younger Elric a chance to prove himself as noble and worthy as his gifted brother. _

_As chance had had it, one of Sir Willoughby's old campaign mates had been passing through the village en route to his county seat, and the Knight had prevailed upon his friend to take the boy on, even if just to find him a training master, or teach him the ways of society._

_It was Alphonse himself who asked the elderly lord to take him on as Squire, and train him in the chivalric code._

_Lord Rynthas of Merredwin, Dragonslayer, Giantbane, Shadeblight, and many other titles beside, had lived a life of valour, danger and infamy, and he knew a pure spirit when he saw it. His life, so enriched with honour and fortitude, had led him down the most treacherous and perilous roads, a constant beacon of light and hope against the tides of evil and villainy. And with the fading of his torch, he had been fearfully awaiting the rise of another Champion to take his place. In Alphonse Elric, he had found it._

_So the years had passed, as gruelling as his brother's rigorous magical tuition, long days and long nights, endless winding roads and blood. Hot, blackened blood, drenching his sword arm, crusting in is chainmail unless he set himself to cleaning it with furious zeal. When Edward's apprenticeship to Mistress Curtis ended, Alphonse had still been a wet-behind-the-ears pup, good for little but cleaning boots, grooming horses and carrying plates. _

_As his brother, the kingdom's youngest Mage, made his first move into the magical hierarchy with his enrolment at the capitol's university, Alphonse found himself just beginning to accept weapons training. The life of a Knight required patience, endurance, and a torturous, twisting path of moral instruction. The genius of his father, as sound and vibrant in his mind as in Edward's, could not serve to lighten his load as it had Edward's. The Squire must endure, that the Knight might stand firm._

_And now, three years since his brother's qualification, it was the younger brother's turn to accept a title, in honour of his 'graduation'._

"_Alphonse Elric," came the deep, gruff voice, as strong as the spirit of its owner, "do you hereby swear to uphold the code of chivalry that you have been taught?"_

_The Squire bowed his head, humbling himself. "I do." His own voice echoed in the vast hall- all Knighting ceremonies were observed by worthies of the realm, and this grand room in the heart of the palace was the designated holding-place on this day._

"_Do you swear to lead a life of fealty to the weak, valour against the unjust, and fairness to all who approach you?"_

"_I do."_

"_Do you accept hardship, and agony, and the burden of blood and death, that others might be spared it?"_

_This was the easiest of questions. "I do." Alphonse's voice rang with complete certainty._

"_Then arise, Sir Alphonse of Elric, and accept your sword."_

_His knees trembling just a little, causing his armour to emit tiny chiming sounds, the new Knight clambered to his feet, and accepted, with a slightly furrowed brow, a battle-scarred, leather-bound hilt. Sir Rynthas, amused by his consternation, let out a bark of laughter. "As my own wish, I give you a faithful servant of mine- the hilt of the sword that has served me most truly. It is at another's request, Sir Elric, that I have not granted you a blade."_

_The old Knight stepped aside, revealing…nothing. No, not nothing; as the nobles gathered to observe gasped and chattered amongst themselves, the space where Sir Rynthas had stood began to swirl, as the surface of a pond might swirl with the submerged activity of fish. A glow, soft as candlelight, diffused through the air, and gradually grew and spread into the form of a very familiar person._

_Alphonse gasped, his mouth gaping. Edward gave him a wicked grin, shook off the last of the glowing remnants of his magic, and presented him with a shining sword blade. "Congratulations, little brother," he smirked, his voice thick with pride, "Congratulations."_

"_E-Edward?"_

"_Ah, I see all that brawling hasn't irreparably damaged our mind. You didn't think I'd miss your big day, did you? Have some faith, Al. And take this bloody thing will you?"_

_With nerveless hands, Alphonse accepted the blade, handling it carefully with his leather-gloved hands. "But how did you come to be here?" he asked, too astonished to examine the gift. "You wrote that your studies kept you occupied!"_

"_And my 'studies' helped me make that just in time for the ceremony! I did have a little help from an, er, interested third party, but I suspect you'll find out all about that in good time. Shall we go and have your sword finished, Sir Elric?"_

_Oblivious to the applause of the nobles, and the laughter of his Knight-Master, Alphonse followed his brother to the palace blacksmiths, absorbing wordlessly the excited babbling that spewed from Edward's mouth about the enchantments sewn through the blade, and the special abilities it possessed, and the hours of work that Edward had dedicated to the…_

_The younger Elric stopped dead, entranced, bewitched as suddenly as a summer shower, by a vision of perfection that drew his attention as surely as the flame draws the moth. Standing at the palace's main forge, her usual glorious raiment cast aside for the rough overalls of the blacksmith, was a beauty whose fame and loveliness were praised throughout Amestris. The Princess Winry, second daughter to the Amestrian King, puckish and pure and fairy-tale beautiful._

"_Greetings, Sir Knight," she called to him, her voice, to his ears, chiming like the sweetest notes of bells, "Pray forgive my forwardness, but oft I have espied you about the palace, and many tales of your courage and skill have reached my ears. I begged an audience from your brother, and I see that the tales have not been exaggerated."_

_Edward snorted, abrupt and in direct contrast to the Princess' sweetness. "Begged? More like blackmailed, threatened and bullied."_

_A fire-iron, propelled with great force and accuracy, struck him in the forehead, and he toppled, screeching, to the ground. Alphonse, still entranced by the Princess, did not notice._

"_Yo-your Majesty," he began, stuttering, but her laughter stopped him dead, and she beckoned him into the forge. _

"'_Winry', please, Sir Knight. If we are to be companions, then you must call me Winry."_

_Edward's darkly-muttered comments on the subject went completely unnoticed by the two, as did his loud grumbling about the treacherousness of little brothers who ought to respect and defend their older siblings, if they were as mighty and honourable as their Knighthood claimed._

* * *

"The Princess is a demon?"

"This is _backstory_."

"My apologies. Pray continue."

"Hmph. As I was saying, some weeks after the Princess and my brother began their…'acquaintance'…"

* * *

_The world had not yet realised not to enrage Edward of Elric (if his brother was to be an 'of', he saw no reason why he should not). It did not yet know what shattering consequences might come about._

_Deep-delved in study, the young Mage's brow bore a brooding furrow of fury. He had not left his room (a typically small and draughty affair, as was the wont of student accommodation) for at least three days now, and in all of that time, his face had not relaxed from its steely, enraged set._

_Those who would call his brother an honourless nobody, and unworthy thief of the Princess's heart, would live to regret those words._

_In the eyes of the nobility, and the royal family, Alphonse needed the infamy of a long career before he could even consider continuing his companionship with the Princess, and Edward knew enough of his brother to know that the scandal being raised in the higher echelons of society by the friendship was enough to quell the quiet youth's ardour. The younger Elric, as befitted a Knight, placed much faith in the traditions of hierarchy and precedence._

_Edward thought such things to be antiquated and irrelevant methods of judging who should talk to whom. Meritocracy was, in his eyes, the only true judge of a man, but the world at large looked at his brother and saw a green, upstart Knight, a rogue and rapscallion seeking only ambition in his clumsy quest for the Princess's regard._

_Therefore, the Mage had resolved, a lifetime of infamy must be gained in a single act, and he would give that gift to his brother._

_The summoning of demons, a taboo subject in all of magical society, had long fascinated humanity, ever since the first Mage forged living magics from the raw stuff of the world. Every tragic, terrible tale that related the ill-fated outcome of tinkering with the Underworld was drummed into the heads of magical students, for those who teach magic know that a Mage's greatest curse is his own curiosity, and curiosity had been the downfall of almost every famous Mage who name solemnly decorated the books valued most highly by wizards._

_Even Hohenheim, the Sorcerer of Light, paragon of purity and integrity, was rumoured, to have fallen to his own curiosity._

_Edward of Elric had little time for the mistakes of other people._

_The seal of the High Mistress of Quicksilver had granted him access to those most forbidden of tomes, and he had locked himself away to devote himself entirely to their study. Considering the damned and damning nature of the sinful act, the research and recording of demons and demonology was surprisingly advanced, coherent and concise. In all honesty, the young wizard ad expected sprawling tomes written entirely in wild fantasies of blank verse, signed in blood and countersigned in gold. The insanity that breeds genius all too often breeds hyperbole, after all._

_He was pleasantly surprised, therefore, to find engagingly-written studies, precise and detailed, written as any Mage would write a record of their research and experimentation. That the experiments all too often involved the hideous torture of some poor innocent, or the copious usage of virgin blood, was almost excusable in the light of the remarkable intelligence and insight of the authors. _

_The reading and hypothesising had led him to certain conclusions; the demonic were of a nature inherently opposed to man; the demonic were completely and totally evil; the demonic would consume and destroy the world, were they granted but the smallest toehold in it; the most revered magical minds in all of human history had universally failed to capture and contain even the essence of the demonic._

_Edward prepared to summon his demon._

_The walls of the tiny chamber were completely covered with ink and chalk, scrawled sigils and incantations, written in so many different languages that Edward's brain had grown numb to the strangeness. He had combined the summoning methods of several illustrious Mages, hoping to negate the need for precious objects or sanctified blood by combining precisely the most potent words of power. Their exact positioning aligned them to generate and channel the most energy, and contain the evil of whatever he might summon. He had spent the day meditating, drawing on the vast well of energy within him and reaching out to borrow strength from the vast silent giant of nature itself, cementing himself in the longstanding magic of the University, burrowing his consciousness to absorb and be absorbed by the centuries old and centuries-strong force, enriched within the very stone of the buildings, and alive the countless scattered minds of its Mages._

_Now he was ready. With this summoning, he would forever, indelibly stamp his name upon the annals of history, and give to his brother the reputation he needed to woo his lady._

_Seated cross-legged upon the floor, dressed in his finest and surrounded by all of his books, on the basis that they served as good a protection as any other talisman, Edward began to cast._

_Once he spoke the first words, in a guttural, croaking tongue entirely alien to his ears, he felt something in his mind loosen, and the sound began to flow as easy as oil from his lips, cascading in lilting chirrups and clicks, soaring like poetry, vibrant with a plenitude of multifaceted colours and fragrances, rich as an Eastern spice cargo. . The words, giving shape to his ambition, fluttered incandescent in the air, and he felt the pull begin on his reserves, language ripping energy from within him, feasting upon him as carrion birds feast upon the dead. With alarming speed, the full, intense richness of his mind drained into a hollow, echoing emptiness, and he spoke sharp, piercing words through numb lips, shivering as even his body's heat deserted him._

_Hours passed, hours of spiralling, spinning spells, layer upon layer of magic, burning bright shadows, eerie flickering upon the surface of his mind and heart and vision. His very bones ached with the weight of his task, he felt as crippled and twisted as a haelstrom-rent oak, yet the casting continued._

_He could not have stopped it now with all the strength in the world._

_Edward no longer harnessed and shaped the enchantment. It possessed him._

_Old magic, the magic that broke the back of the world and drew darkness from light as poison from a wound, to create shadows and stars, it now held the Mage immobile, using his lips to speak the spells, even as tears started to pour from his eyes, the tears of a prisoner bound inexorably to his task._

_The first, cruel brush of a demon's mind against his sent him reeling, screaming, scratching at his eyes and face with hands hooked into claws. The stinking, festering taint of that demonic conscience broke him free of the spell's freezing crystal hold, but it was far, far too late._

_Laughter rang, sick with black bile and the stench of gangrene, insane and breathless in his ears. The demon's eyes, white-blind and putrescent, held his gaze, pain lancing through his raw, bleeding eyeballs as the blighted creature fed greedily upon the power he had so foolishly given to it. It must have had a body- it must have, for it possessed those horrific eyes, but, anchored halfway between worlds, Edward could perceive nothing through a haze of agony but the wicked gleaming poison of its laughter, the hideous glee of its merciless intent._

_Something of a voice hissed, a language that cracked like broken bones and spat like melting flesh, and Edward screamed again as his ear drums burst, curling in on himself, a helpless, tortured child before the darkest evil of the universe._

_As the life ebbed slowly from his veins, a blackened claw, warped and perverse, touched his skin, smoking the kin to ash where it fell, and the plague of the creature's voice resolved into words._

"_Such a generous feast you have provided, vainglorious and stupid human," the demon spoke, lovingly, searing Edward's mind with the bitter, joyful cruelty of its words. "Yet not enough to open the gate between our worlds. Weak, cretinous child, whose thought to play with we who use souls as playthings, I will grant you a boon in return for your gift."_

_The physical pain of his arm's removal, ripped from his body like the leg of a roasted chicken, was almost a welcome respite, compared to the sheer weight of mental and spiritual agony that the demon's very presence caused._

"_A boon, to remember your foolishness."_

_The demon's voice was fading, even as its evil, cackling laughter branded Edward's jerking, spasming body._

_Released, at last, at long blessed last, Edward slumped, helpless, broken, and nearly dead, into unconsciousness._


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_

* * *

Edward cleared his throat. It was dry with dust and the pain of recollection. "I am told I lay in my room for three days before rescuers could reach me. I had summoned a maelstrom of magic so wild and destructive that it only abated under the attack of five ArchMages. For a further five months, I wandered through a hellish dreamscape, locked inside my own mind, at the mercy of my own demonic summoning. When I awoke, I had a steel arm from the Princess and her most honoured grandmother, and a furious Mistress to answer to. I am not sure that my brother has ever truly forgiven me for the action."

There was a long pause, during which the Mage brought his breathing under control and stubbornly blinked back tears.

"You are to be commended, Fullmetal One. Not many humans would have survived discourse with a demon."

"Commended? The word humans would use is 'condemned', Roy."

"Nevertheless."

Edward shrugged his shoulders, his eyes fixed on hands that were folded in his lap. "I have never stopped cursing my foolishness," he said, softly. "That thing…it's _boon_ was at least effective."

Warm breath washed over the Mage, and he looked up into the Dragon's hound-sized face, which now hovered a mere foot away from him. He dared not move, so piercing was Roy's gaze.

"Yours is a story whose telling would make the most hardened battlecaster swoon," the creature told him, the wisdom of its centuries filling his voice with a calm certainty. "To remember, and regret, and learn from folly is wise. To be consumed by it is not."

In answer, Edward lifted his shining metal hand into the waning light, watching it catch both the sun's dying rays and the Dragon's gleaming eye.

Roy narrowed his eyes, and, with a suddenness that made Edward gasp, he shot out a forepaw to pick the Mage up, enclosing him in a wall of scale before the human could react. Edward reached out to grip the living walls about him, feeling his stomach turn over itself as the Dragon clambered out of his curled-up position, and onto his feet. Edward craned his head over the top of Roy's paw, acutely aware of the serrated edges of the claws that brushed against him. The sight of the ground so very far away made him gulp, dizzied by the swiftness of the Dragon's impulsive action.

With a delicateness that most would not have credited to a creature so vast, Roy reached around to place the Mage on his back, dropping him so that he straddled the narrow, withers-like crop of muscle at the base of the Dragon's back, a bridge of flesh thin enough for him to straddle comfortably before the creature's back widened out to the great bulging muscles of his shoulders and wings. Bewildered, Edward sat as still as he could, wondering at the beast's erratic behaviour.

Roy let out a satisfied grumble, the reverberations of which Edward could _feel_. "It would be prudent for you to hold on to my hide _very_ tightly, Fullmetal," the Dragon warned him, with a capricious tone.

Edward barely had time to contemplate what the Dragon might mean before Roy sank into a crouch, making Edward's stomach churn. Like a cat preparing to leap, Roy shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsettling Edward with every movement until the Mage learned to compensate by twisting his upper body.

"Wh-what are you-"

With a joyous bark, the Dragon _surged_ forwards, springing out of his crouch into a sprint that made Edward scream and latch onto the scaly neck with all his might. The hellish, bouncing run abruptly ended in a leap and the _thud_ of an impact that set all of Edward's bones shaking. He felt an odd force pulling him backwards, threatening to yank him off the Dragon's back, and he clung on tighter.

Cautiously, the Mage opened his eyes, feeling the Dragon's body strain with some momentous effort beneath him. What he saw made his mouth gape open in shock, and all of his organs plummet into his shoes.

Paw over paw, methodically digging his claws into crumbling stone, Roy was climbing up the high northern tower of the castle. Climbing it, as if it were not a smooth, vertical structure stretching at least as high as any building in the capital of Amestris. As if he did not have a vulnerable, easily-squashed human clinging in horror to his back.

The Dragon roared a laugh as Edward let out a second screech of terror.

"Surely, after combating a demon, this is no hardship!" he called back to the Mage, his tense voice betraying the difficulty of the climb.

Edward's reply was not intelligible.

After what felt like a decade of torturous, straining muscles and gut-wrenching fear, Roy had clambered high enough to curl his body about the uppermost level of the tower, the massive creature coiling about the circular structure and digging his claws into thick stone. His belly rested mainly on the conical, flared roof of the spire, and he lifted his head proudly to survey the countryside that sprawled out below the volcano.

A surge of movement behind him alerted Edward to the spreading of the Dragon's wings, rising as much as they could to catch the air.

Once the frantic beating of his heart had settled to a manageable level, the Mage felt the muscles of his neck unlock enough for his to lift his chin and share the Dragon's view.

It was...astonishing.

As long as one did not look straight down, at which point one discovered once more the absolute limit of human fear.

Edward looked up, aware of the blood draining from his face, to meet, once again, the Dragon's large, alien eyes.

"Look, Fullmetal," Roy said, his deep voice rich and honeyed with joy. "Is it not a most magnificent sight? Does it not make you feel incomparably small and insignificant?"

Edward nodded, not convinced of his ability to speak.

The Dragon's teeth showed, in a wistful smile. "This is but a fleeting glimpse of the world that I have lost." He shook his wings, the chains chiming for emphasis. The high, freezing wind cut through the master of the castle and his guest, filling the brief silence with a keening, lonely cry. "Never succumb to despair. It is our sins that forge us, cast us in stuff stronger than we might ever have hoped to become," the Dragon counselled, something of the tragedy of the universe tingeing his voice with melancholy. "Without wings, I must walk, whilst you must work your magic with clumsy steel fingers. Yet how strong we are, for having sinned."

Awed, stunned, and a little afraid, Edward could not hold the Dragon's gaze for long, and tore his eyes away to view the world spread below them. For a chance, split-second moment, the question of the chained wings rose to his tongue, but he bit it back.

It was not time for that, yet.

* * *

They did not speak of what had passed between them and, once Roy had climbed down from the tower, Dragon and human resumed the routine of day-to-day life, each with a newer, more profound understanding of the other.

For his part, Edward continued to note his observations on draconic behaviour, and exhaust the Dragon's library. They continued to share long, tireless debates on the theory of magic, of the world and its wonders, of days gone by and days to come. Edward was refining his sketches of the creature, taking long hours to capture the minute details of his conformation, as well as trying to tie down the sheer grace and majesty of his captor to paper. Such was his fervency in the matter that he had been forced to request a regular cache of paper and ink to be added to the goods brought by the scruffy wagoner.

And though it occurred to him many times, positively _itched_ inside his head like a plague sore, Edward did not once voice the question he so desperately wanted to ask. The Dragon's mysteries would take time to be revealed.

It so happened that he was pondering that very question, a blur of weeks after the remarkable episode of the tower-climbing, when a most peculiar event occurred.

The Mage was in the courtyard, wearing a cloak of particular thickness to combat the decisive chill of autumn that now pervaded the air. He had taken to pacing the great space when the stifling of study became too claustrophobic. In order that he might retain his physical fitness, despite the limits of his perambulations within the castle walls, he had even recommenced the daily training exercises that had been drummed into him by his Teacher.

He was just considering casting aside his cloak to begin warming his muscles when a shadow fell over him, a wind whipped up, and an odd roaring rush of air filled his ears.

Edward looked up to see the fantastic sight of some huge _thing_ descending from the air above him, at great speed. With a yell of surprise and alarm, he sprang to the side, losing his balance as he scrambled to escape the shadow before the thing squashed him.

Once the reverberations from the traumatic landing had stilled, Edward uncurled himself from his foetal position on the ground, blinking in the cloud of dust that had sprung up, and squinted through the haze. His jaw dropped.

Arrogant, casual, almost nonchalant, a massive scaly figure squatted in the castle's courtyard, hunched low to the ground. In the ever-present glow of lava, the creature's scales shone a deep, sapphire blue. As Edward watched, agape, it unfurled itself from its landing position with slow, lazy motions, allowing endless coils to resolve themselves into a very familiar form, though with its differences. From snout to tailtip, the Dragon was perhaps half as long again as Roy, though its build was much slimmer and lighter, a narrow, coiling serpent of a beast. Its legs were longer, leaner, matching the thin set of its body, and it drew itself up with grace and poise. The spikes that ran along its spine were stubbier, and the end of its tail bulged into a protrusion that resembled a mace; a great, spherical mass of flesh and bone, from which menacing spines emerged. This beast had, it seemed, an extra bludgeoning weapon at its disposal to make up for its lack of sheer mass.

At the opposite end there was an angular, pointed face, inexplicably different to Roy's, longer and flatter, though the huge fangs protruding over the lower lip glittered just as ominously. The stranger Dragon looked about itself, curiously, with bright, jewelled eyes.

It was with a pang that Edward observed, for the first time, the glorious majesty of a Dragon's wings unfurled. The great wings, almost translucent at full stretch, glimmered with blue and purple tones in the light. Their span was twice that of the blue beast's length and their thin hide intersected by bony ribs of flesh, akin to a bat's, that protruded as wicked claws along the bottom edge of the wings. The Dragon shook them out a little, as a dog might shake its head after a swim, and folded them neatly along its back with a _snap_. The noise was like the sharp retort of billowing sail canvas, and caused Edward to jump, shocking him out of his entranced study.

His jerk made the creature's head twitch towards him, and gleaming topaz eyes fixed him as a fox freezes a rabbit. Edward could feel his heart shuddering in his chest, each tremble of his hands, could feel every grain of grit embedded in his skin, hypersensitive to the movement of the air around him. The grain of his staff scraped raw against his fingers, and his grip tightened as he fought desperately to summon a helpful incantation to mind. _Where the hell was Roy?_

Luckily, the newcomer seemed ill-disposed to deliver a fiery or bone-crunching death. Its gaze was more curious than hungry, and it snaked out its head to better scrutinise Edward. When its snout was mere feet away, it halted. Its breath scorched the Mage's face, but the sharp tingle was that of frost rather than fire, a rush of cold, slightly foetid air, diametrically opposed to the unbelievable heat of Roy's exhalations.

Its face twisted, lips drawing back to reveal ALL of its teeth, and Edward cursed his unresponsive brain for its complete lack of spell suggestions, before he remembered that a similar expression on Roy's face had, invariably, indicated a smile.

"Well," rumbled a masculine voice lighter than Roy's, alive with something akin to amusement, "what has he picked up this time?"

Before Edward had time to respond, the air erupted with a bellowing, deafening roar, and the ground shuddered as an immense black form thundered from within one of the fortress buildings and flung itself at the intruder.

The two massive creatures rolled, coiling together faster than Edward could see, and thrashed with convulsive, shattering violence. The air filled with their snarls, the deafening impact of their blows and the screeching scrape of diamond-hard scale-on-scale. The Dragons hissed, growled, screamed at each other, and their roiling fury churned up the ground with the ferocity of an earthquake. Within seconds, such dust and grit had been flung up that only flashing glimpses of the combatants could be seen. Edward stood, frozen with indecision, for a long moment, torn between his infernal curiosity and desire to document a dragon versus dragon battle, and his much-neglected voice of self-preservation.

The toppling of a watchtower, due to the impact of the thrashing bodies, decided him, and he sprinted for the relative safety of the nearest building, cursing (and not for the first time) the voluminous cut of his robes. He ducked into the cool shadows, pressing his body flat to craggy stone, listening intently to the thunder of snarls, the chaotic clamour of blows, the cacophony of destruction. It was impossible to distinguish one Dragon from the other when they were so embroiled, either by sound or sight, and he had no hope of judging which beast fared better until the conflict was concluded. But there were preparations he could make for an unfavourable outcome.

Hurriedly, he knelt and began to trace runic patterns in a tight circle about him. Teasing motes of energy away from the atmosphere, an easy task with an epic battle between mystical creatures was but a stone's throw away, Edward charged his invisible inscriptions and pursed his lips to begin the incantations that would unlock their power.

It was then that a particularly loud _thud_ shook the building, and a ragged screech rent the air, before all fell to stillness and silence. Edward paused in his casting, straining his ears. From outside, he heard only the scritch-scratch of shifting scale, and the harsh breathing of the combatants. Whispering the final syllables of his protective charms, the Mage peered cautiously around the edge of the doorway.

A good third of the inner buildings stood in shattered ruin. Debris littered the courtyard, cloaked by an immense cloud of dust and grit. Bizarrely, there was no trace of blood anywhere to be seen, no scorchmarks or stench of burning flesh, only the gaping scars of claw marks, the gouging in the earth of deep trenches by struggling bodies. Edward wondered at that. His golden eyes swept over the courtyard to the far eastern corner, where the two huge forms hulked, motionless but for the rise and fall of their panting breaths. The Mage scrutinised them, willing his eyes to penetrate the gloom cast by the dust-smog, thicker than fog over marshland in autumn.

"You still fight like a sand-lizard," came a deep voice from the shadowy mass, and Edward sagged in relief that Roy was alive and, apparently, victorious.

"And you still fight as though your soul depended upon victory, even in a little egg-scuffle," retorted the other voice, sounding similarly unaffected by the 'scuffle'.

Roy snorted, a sound that was accompanied by the brief glow of a small fireball. "It cannot fail to have escaped your notice, but we are far beyond our egg years, you and I."

"And yet I, the elder, possess the more youthful spirit."

"Hatchling."

"Droopy jaw."

Edward couldn't quite believe his ears. He snuck out from behind the doorway and crept closer, listening with increasing astonishment to two fully gown male Dragons, who had recently been attempting to rip enormous chunks from another, bicker like small children. Judging by the strangled grunt that had just issued from behind the dust cloud, Roy was responding to the last jab by leaning on the other creature's throat.

"You can never take a joke," spat the second voice, after a lengthy pause. It sounded hoarse.

Arrogant menace _swaggered_ through Roy's voice as he replied. "I never have to."

The dust was beginning to clear as they talked, drifting upwards in a vaguely disgruntled manner. Edward could now make out his captor. Roy was perched mostly on top of the blue, who was lying on his side. Their tails, wings and limbs were hopelessly entangled, twined sinuously together intimate as lovers. Closer observation revealed that it was the blue who had swamped Roy in his coils- the more heavyset Dragon seemed to bear the weight with ease, pinning his opponent despite the crushing mass of his enemy curled about him.

Dragons clearly fought like politicians- so close that the slightest mistake might kill you, or your opponent, close enough to see yourself in your enemy's eyes, close enough that it was strength to strength, weakness to weakness. Both blue and black hides showed signs of the 'scuffle'- ragged gouges in otherwise peerless scale, sluggishly oozing blood. Claws and fangs, both still bared, wore lurid scarlet like the gloss on a lady's fingernails. Roy's head was bent close to the other Dragon's, the tip of his snout mere inches from the other's heavily-ridged brows, his whiskers brushing the other's blunt nose.

As Edward snuck closer, the blue let out his breath in a huff and _twitched_, his entire body convulsing for a split-second, before he relaxed again. "Let me up," he demanded, his mace-tipped tail lashing free of Roy's like an affronted cat's.

The black narrowed his eyes. "You would make so bold, when you are at my mercy."

A snort from the defeated creature sent a tiny plume of icy white-blue mist from its nostrils. "Let me up, or I shall freeze your face and eat your new Princess."

The Mage, completely absorbed in the exchange, stopped dead only a few yards away from them. His outraged pride had a minor duel with his sense of self-preservation whilst Roy let out one of his enigmatic chuckles, and he finally drew himself up in the perfect picture of offended dignity. "I am _not_ a Princess!" he declared, striking the ground with his staff, "and I'd like to see an overgrown lizard try and make a meal out of the Fullmetal Mage!"

Two sets of almost-identical slit-pupils regarded him, one with astonishment, and the other with ill-concealed humour.

"Ah, Edward, so courteous of you to join us," Roy greeted him, with a mockingly polite nod of his head. "As you can see, our self-imposed exile is now brightened by the presence of an honoured and most illustrious guest…"

"Who is most unimpressed by your idea of hospitality," the blue finished, flickering his tongue out at Roy insolently.

"Hush. Edward, this is a very old friend of mine. You may call him 'Maes'."

"_Friend?_" Edward gaped.

The black tilted his head in question.

"But- But he…The castle," Edward stuttered, floundering. His limbs flailed, arms windmilling to indicate the rubble-strewn courtyard. "He attacked the castle! He destroyed the north wing! You're sitting on him!"

Roy shrugged. "Such is friendship. Is it not, Maes?"

Maes chuckled, the rough rumble of an earthquake's tremors. "Indeed."

Whilst the Mage spluttered, the black delicately lifted his head into the air, shaking out his neck. Blue coils loosened about his limbs, allowing Roy to clamber easily off the other Dragon. Maes waited until he had withdrawn before sitting up, stretching, and resettling himself on his haunches. Both Dragons were still dripping blood from their wounds, but made no move to lick or soothe them. Instead, they both surveyed the damaged courtyard, and each other, with wry amusement.

"A goodly fight," Roy asserted, eventually.

Maes nodded. "A goodly fight. Now," his long head swung around to face Edward directly, "who might you be, Mageling?"

Were all mythical creatures he met destined to call him that?

Edward finally managed to contain his astonishment in order to make a low bow, aware that offending Roy's friend might be a suicidal move, and presented his staff. "My name is Edward Elric, Fullmetal Mage, formerly apprenticed to High Mistress Izumi of the Quicksilver Circle."

"A Quicksilver Mage?" Maes scratched his cheek briefly, absently, with dripping claws, staining his snout with blood. "You've caught yourself a clever one, Roy, you had better handle him carefully."

Edward puffed up a little, proudly. To be described in such terms by a Dragon was no small feat- the Quicksilver Order had long built up a reputation for training only the quickest of minds, the sharpest of intellects. He ducked automatically, however, when Roy's tail swung past him.

"Don't worry, Maes, I have my eye on him," came the response from the black, who took another half-hearted, playful swat at the Mage. Edward grinned, sidestepping easily. It was a good day when Roy chose to take mischievous pot-shots at him- he hadn't landed a blow yet.

"Have you eaten recently?" Roy continued, to the other Dragon, the chains on his wings rattling as he stood on all fours and turned to enter the castle.

"Not for three weeks, I am due a snack!" Maes laughed, following after a moment's pause.

Edward ran to catch up. Dragon interaction was something no human had ever observed before, his treatise would indeed be a masterpiece of scholarship! If only he had a pencil with him…

The castle's corridors, whilst big enough for one Dragon to move freely in, caused a little difficulty for two. Maes was forced to walk in the footsteps of his host, and Roy was obliged to swing his head right round to address the other Dragon. Their chatter was rapid and sibilant, but neither of them appeared to consider speaking anything but the Common tongue (there was another paper in that- 'the origins of language, human or bestial?'). Edward stuck close to the wall at Roy's shoulder, still unwilling to get too close to the new Dragon, preferring the shadow he knew and trusted.

Upon entering what had once been the banquet hall of the main keep, Roy made his way to the centre of the great room and flumped to the floor, causing it to reverberate with the impact, and tucked his limbs neatly under himself. He raised an eyebrow at Maes. Edward watched from the doorway, interested, as the blue made his way over, stepped into a delicate crouch over his bulkier friend, then lowered himself carefully onto the other's back, coiling over and around Roy with serpentine movements. Roy was obliged to lift his limbs and resettle his wings in turn, in order for Maes to wrap himself around the black as fully as possible.

Edward wished, momentarily, that he possessed a painter's skill. The two mythical beasts, curled together comfortably and at peace, were a beautiful study in ebony and sapphire.

Maes rested his head on a paw as Roy looked up to catch Edward's eye.

"Could you bring something for us to eat from the cellars?" he asked, his voice firm enough for Edward to know it was an order, not a request.

The Mage bowed his assent and took a last, searching look at the glittering tableau the dominated the room before turning and hurrying off. As much as he would have preferred to stay and document their reunion (_who knew Dragons kept companions as did humans?_), he had enough tact to recognise when privacy was desired.

Even so, the arrival of another Dragon to add depth and detail to his study…Edward could barely believe his luck! Two Dragons! Two Dragons who were, against all expectations, _friends_.

It was as if he was floating through a dream as he made his way to the section of the cellars that Roy had turned into a sort of vast pantry, chilled by its subterranean location, wherein he stored animal carcasses. The Mage enchanted several of the carcasses with a quick, businesslike array (a combination of the levitation circle and the forced movement pattern) and made his eager way back through empty, echoing corridors, unaware that the spectacle of several dead animals floating in his wake was disturbing, to say the least.

As he approached the banquet hall, faint strains of a deep-voiced conversation steadily grew louder until, when he halted outside the huge chamber, he could hear the Dragons' conversation quite clearly. The subject of it had his jaw dropping in shock.

"…always knew you had a penchant for blonde humans, Roy, but this is ridiculous."

"They say the fair-headed have the sweetest flesh," came Roy's voice, in a whimsical tone.

The rough grating sound of a Dragon's snort followed the assertion. "And from exactly what experience do you draw that conclusion? You have never sampled human meat in your life, only the most crass and vile of our kind ever have. You surely cannot have forgotten the Gluttonous Wyrm?"

Roy's scales scraped against one another; a shiver of disgust. "I would be hard-pressed to suppress _that_ memory."

"Indeed- how many villages did he consume?"

"I hesitate to speculate. The humans were fortunate that he succumbed to our combined assault. None of their feeble devices could have stopped him."

Edward snuck closer, to the open doorway, intrigued. This pair were a fighting team? Their mock-battle had all but destroyed much of the inner courtyard, he couldn't help but speculate how breath-taking their battle would be when they stood united. And…they had acted for the good of a human community? Knowledge of draconic attitudes towards humanity was unclear at best, and Edward had never heard accounts of the great beasts actively defending people; traditional accounts told exactly the opposite story.

From inside the room, Roy yawned, drawing Edward's attention back from his internal musing. "You have yet to explain your point, Maes," he said, in a tone of bored reprimand.

"My point, dear friend, is that I fear this time you have taken a greater bite than you can swallow. You've never held a Mage before, whatever possessed you? He'll have your heart out within the week!"

Roy chuckled. "Oh? But he has been under my care for nigh-on two months now. We have an understanding."

Maes' tone took on a pleading aspect, and Edward could hear the restless shifting of scale against stone. "Roy, you simply do not have understanding with Mages. They shake your claw with one hand and trace out a spell for your doom with the other. You, of all creatures, know the danger of magic-users. Mages should be marinated, not entertained."

Edward drew himself up indignantly (marinated indeed!) but before he could storm in, he heard a low _thump_, the impact of flesh against flesh- a playful buffet? "I appreciate your concern, Maes, I do, and yet…I find myself intrigued by this boy. He has shown me much of his character, willing or no, he is unlike the humans I have encountered before; he amuses me. And I do not think he will attempt to have my heart out before our agreed time. And he is excellent company- we are not such solitary creatures that we fear no loneliness, hm?"

"Roy…"

Edward ignored the squeeze of emotion in his gut and decided it was more than time for him to interrupt. He allowed one of the chilled carcasses drop heavily to the floor, and let out a string of colourful curses, shattering the odd, melancholic quiet from inside the room as Roy barked with laughter.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_

A/N: Please forgive the long delay and the tiny tiny chapter- my university work has been terribly pressing this year, and I have exams in the next couple of months, so this story will unfortunately be dormant for a while. But fear not, gentle readers! This story will be continued and finished in due time. Many many thanks for your patience and indulgence!

*

"You are an ice Dragon?"

The blue nodded, opening his mouth to breathe icy vaporous wisps into the air. "A water Dragon, actually. My element is water, it just so happens that my flame is ice."

Edward nodded, scribbling frantically. Maes was a beast entirely removed from Roy, he was discovering. Rambunctious, energetic and quick to enflame his more reticent friend's temper, the blue was a burst of new life in the castle, and he had thoroughly disrupted their routines with the ease of a bull lumbering through a cobweb.

"Then, you must live in a frozen landscape?" the Mage hazarded.

Maes grinned. Somehow, the expression appeared more garrulous on him than on the black. "That is so. The icy wastes of the far frozen north, dear boy, are what I call home. I can withstand Roy's dreadful furnace once in a while, though it is a sore trial to be away from my Gracia."

"Gra-"

"She is my mate, a water-wyrm, and oh, you have never seen so fine a Dragon! Scales of peerless turquoise, shimmering like the surface of a lake, beautiful eyes that shine brighter than the sun, claws of-"

The litany of Gracia's charms went on for some time, during which Edward found himself inching towards the doorway of the great room, wondering if he might slip away in a clandestine manner before the Dragon's voice was the cause of his untimely death.

When Maes paused for breath, the Mage said hurriedly, "Yes, yes, she sounds wonderful, does she never visit?"

The blue dragon shook his head, an odd motion that involved a wagging of the serpentine head at the end of the long, sinuous neck. "It is a rare misfortune, that you will never see my Gracia," Maes said, in the manner of one offering condolences for a bereavement. "In truth, she does not willingly travel beyond our cave- she prefers to stay and guard our egg."

"You have an egg?" Edward leaned forwards, his pencil never pausing. "Is it the fem- er, Gracia's duty to protect it?"

"Her," Maes corrected, sniffily. "My egg will hatch an angel dragon, sweet as my beloved Gracia, elegant and wondrous, and she will be the best of all Dragons, and-"

"I fear, Fullmetal, that you have doomed yourself to an eternity of witless wittering," came an amused voice from the hallway.

Edward looked up and grinned to see his host. The black Dragon stood in the doorway, his head ducked under the arch of the door to view the proceedings within. He could not fully enter, as the room was barely big enough to accommodate Maes' bulk, and even then, the wirier of the two Dragons had been obliged to curl up his coils very tightly.

"How can you prattle at such length in such a small space?" Roy continued, in a taunting tone. "Does not the hot air oppress you intolerably?"

Maes snorted, humour dancing in his green-gold eyes. "If we were to discuss hot air, Roy, it is you who would prove the more intolerable."

Roy laughed at that, and conceded Maes the victory with a salutary sweep of his foreclaw.

The blue grinned, and turned his attention back to Edward. Roy settled where he stood snaking his shoulders and the foremost tips of his wings into the room as he lay down to listen.

"As I was saying," Maes continued, with a mock-angry glance at Roy, "Gracia remains to guard our egg, because that is what her instincts lead her to do. You humans, you have the parental instinct for your eggs?"

Edward nodded, choosing not to explain that human reproduction differed immensely from Dragon reproduction, and that the laying of eggs was not actually involved.

"With Dragons, the strength of the instinct varies between individuals," Roy put in. "My parents were of a saner temperament than Maes, and preferred to leave me to the volcano's keeping."

Maes bristled at that. "I am not insane!"

Roy raised one of his heavily-ridged eyebrows in response.

The blue flicked his tongue out at the black. "You must not believe him, mageling. It is no sign of a deranged mind to nurture one's egg."

Edward opened his mouth to ask how exactly ice Dragons were incubated, whether they relied upon the cold for life, as flame Dragons relied upon heat, but Roy spoke up before he could form the first syllable.

"You and your mate have kept a near-constant watch over that egg for more then twenty years," the black said. "That is _sanity_?"

Edward found his eyes darting back and forth between the two Dragons as they talked. This had the well-worn, well-used feeling of a long-standing argument, an old and tiresome point of debate from which neither combatant would give ground. Each was firm in his unwavering opinion, despite the seeming longevity of the discussion.

Maes, unexpectedly, cocked a grin at his friend, rather than snapping a retort. "I sometimes wonder," he conceded. "But then I think of my sweet Gracia, and how beautiful her egg-baby will be, and twenty years is just a hiccup."

Edward wondered what exactly caused the dim glimmer in Roy's eyes. It was heated like envy, quiet like grief, and poisoned with a healthy dose of longing.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist

* * *

The days somehow passed quicker with their new guest in residence. Maes brought the twist of amusement to Roy's lips, and he answered every question with a wry draconic grin- the simplest thing made him laugh, and his laughter made the black Dragon smile.

And all the more, with every day that passed, Edward wondered if the melancholy, imprisoned, saddened Dragon he had studied and begun to befriend was the creature that Maes had known. The Roy that smiled soft instead of smirking did not belong to Edward; he belonged to the ice Dragon, a gaier, lighter beast than the Roy that Edward was beginning to understand.

"Age wearies everyone, Quicksilver wizard."

Edward started violently, yanking from his mouth the quill he had been absent-mindedly chewing. This abrupt movement had the unfortunate side-effect of spilling ink liberally over every surface, including the Mage. He cursed colourfully, heard Maes rattle a laugh, and lifted his head to scowl at the ice Dragon.

Maes raised a claw. "My apologies," he grinned, toothily. "You will forgive my presumption upon your intellectual mouldering?"

"If you were not several dozen times my size, sir Dragon, I would turn you into a newt."

"Ha!" Maes slapped his spiked tail against the wall in draconic applause, causing dust to rain down from the high ceiling. "I should like to see the spell that could transfigure a Dragon, even from so mighty a spellcaster."

The Mage, who was hurriedly stripping of his outer robes in order to save his breeches and shirt, muttered darkly about tempting angry wizards and curiosity killing the overgrown lizard. He could feel Maes' amused gaze on him as he kicked the red cloth into a heap and traced a spell in the air over them with his shining right hand; he had taken to leaving his gloves aside whilst casting. The metal hand fascinated both Dragons and besides, he had forgotten how much the gloves had impacted his precision casting. Drawing the ink from the robes with a few flicks of his wrist, Edward considered tossing it in Maes' face for a long, indulgent moment, then dropped it, almost regretfully, back in the inkwell. "What did you wish of me?" he addressed the blue, sharply.

Maes waved a casual claw through the air, green-gold eyes glinting with humour. "I had thought you might be interested in a little magical demonstration. Of course, if your laundry duties absorb you too fully?" He spoke the last few words over a massive scaled shoulder, having turned around whilst he was talking, his side brushing against the wall and causing it to buckle as he manoeuvred in the tight space.

"No!" Edward grabbed up his robes from the dusty stone floor and ran to join the Dragon before Maes could leave. "No, I, I should be…very very interested, I assure you."

The ice Dragon laughed again, giving Edward the distinct impression he was being skilfully manipulated, and led the Mage through the winding corridors of the castle to the main entrance. Edward stared at the gorge separating the castle from the volcano's rim, his eyes fixing on the distant copse of trees through which he and Alphonse had trudged all those weeks ago…Had it really been more than two months? His brother must have reached the capitol by now, triumphant and weary with his love on his arm, his only battle-wound the loss of a Quicksilver Mage…

Edward's musings were interrupted by Maes scratching at the ground; at the gates, the rock was rough and weathered by the volcano's changing moods, by the wind and rain, and the stink of sulphur hung heavier in the air. The blue appeared to be levelling out a square patch of stone the length of three men lying head to foot. Once done, he lowered his great blue head to inspect the surface closer, his nostrils widening to take in the scent.

Satisfied, the beast drew himself to his full height, wings unfolding to rear wide and magnificent behind his body. Glancing across to check he had Edward's full attention, Maes took in a deep breath and, crouching low to the ground with the exhale, blew a gust of icy vapour forth. As he did so, he lifted a single scaled paw, talons curled, and moved it through the mist like a witch swirling a potion. He continued to breathe forth his ice, eyes narrowed in concentration, and swept his wings forwards to shield his actions from view. Edward craned his neck, baffled, but the wings obscured the process completely.

Several heartbeats later, the rushing of Maes' breath, oddly reminiscent of a waterfall's roar, skittered to silence, and the ice Dragon sat back on his haunches, folding his wings away with a pleased snort. In the newly-vacated space, Edward saw, surrounded by the mist of its own construction, a sculpture formed of the Dragon's ice. It depicted the sinuous, coiling form of a water wyrm, delicately poised at the crest of a tumbling wave. The creature had wide, expressive eyes half-closed in an affectionate gaze, and cradled in the crook of its right foreleg was the peerless curved surface of an egg that was at least as big as Edward himself.

The Mage felt his neck prickle, his tongue tingling with the blood-iron tang of elemental magic. The wyrm was extraordinarily beautiful, ethereal as the substance from which it was constructed, fragile as winter frost upon a blade of grass. Either Maes was as skilled a fantasist as he was a spellcaster, or his mate truly was one of the most captivating beasts to swim the seas.

"Her nose is too big."

Edward jerked around; his attention had been so wholly consumed by the alluring figure that the Dragon's voice came as a shock. Maes was scrutinising his handiwork with a sceptical expression. "Her nose isn't actually that big," he sighed, in the tones of one suffering severe depression. "Oh, what a poor imitation! If only there was a way to show you my Gracia _exactly_ as she is…"

The Mage shook his head in disbelief. The ice Dragon was clearly raving.

* * *

"Of course he is insane," Roy snorted, his chin resting upon a sapphire coil. "He buries himself in glacial caverns and gorges on whalemeat, what other proof do you require, Fullmetal?"

Maes, whose blue form entwined once again with the black, grunted in a drowsy manner- he was fast asleep. Edward, sat at the entrance to Roy's massive sleeping chamber, chewed his quill thoughtfully. "So, Dragons of opposite elements do not necessarily share a rivalry?"

The black's tongue flickered out to taste the air, accompanied by a hiss of amusement. "Do you quarrel with your dark-skinned neighbours, or hate another human for his love of milk? I do not understand Maes; indeed, you would require powers of the most extreme lunacy to comprehend the labyrinths of his twisted mind. But that does not exclude us from kinship, anymore than that ocean's attack upon a rockface causes land and earth to quarrel."

"Elements are above conflict?"

Roy chuckled. "Not quite; conflict is our nature. Maes and I have always fought, fire and ice cannot resist the intrinsic impetus to battle. Yet, we are not enemies."

Edward sat back, tossing his quill to the floor in frustration. "That makes no sense," he argued, earnestly. "You cannot fight and be at peace, that is an insoluble contradiction."

"Nevertheless."

The Mage frowned at his host. "You are insufferable," he told the Dragon, and Roy grinned.

"As you say."

* * *

"I would call that a draw, gentlemen."

Edward, keeping his eyes trained on the heaving mass of muscle before him, tightened his hands about the wood of his staff. "A hasty statement," he panted, grimacing as sweat tickled down the side of his face.

"I agree," Maes remarked. The ice Dragon towered over the Mage, his wings spread so that they blocked out the weak autumn sunlight, and the result of Edward's last enchantment lay at his feet, encased in ice and still rocking from its impact with the ground.

Roy, who had been appointed adjudicator of the impromptu duel, raised a craggy eyebrow. "Maes, you find the restriction on flight far too limiting when facing a wizard," he said, with brutal accuracy. "And Edward, as remarkable as your talents are, to empty your magical reserves in a friendly test of strength goes against the wisdom of your Order. I call a draw, which either of you are welcome to protest once you have your breath back."

Edward's muscles chose this moment to give out, and he collapsed into a crouch, his energy quite gone, entirely drained by the extravagant display of spellcasting he had just performed. He was bounced up from the earth a moment later when Maes thumped back onto all fours. Roy tsked, lowering his head to buffet the blond human with gentle fondness. "You need food," the black told the Mage, sniffing at his combat-torn clothes. "I will return with refreshments. Maes, pray abandon your façade and sit down, you are no better than he."

The wizard watched Roy disappear into the castle, then, with the slow, agonised movement of a Mage who has emptied the magic from his veins, Edward fell backwards to lie in the dirt with a heartfelt groan. "Remind me never to challenge a Dragon to a cast-match again," he said, dryly, and heard Maes rumble a laugh.

"Remind me never to accept such a challenge from a Quicksilver Mage," the blue replied. "It has been many a year since I hexed against a wizard of such power, you have my congratulations."

Edward mumbled uncertain thanks, crossing his wrists behind his head and resting on his arms to better observe the Dragon. Maes was working out his coils, each, comparatively slender limb indulged in a luxurious stretch before the blue shook himself out from snout to tailtip. Curiosity, his eternal downfall, prompted Edward to say, "If I do not make too bold, what would draw an ice king into combat with a Mage? Your home is a remote one, far beyond the limits of human survival, and none but the most insane would seek to displace a mated pair of Dragons."

The Dragon…hesitated. Glancing at the entrance to the castle, Maes hovered on the edge of answering, his tail lashing at the air. Quirking an eyebrow at the unsettled behaviour, Edward wondered what draconic social code he might have violated. Maes seemed torn; looking between Edward and the gigantic doorway, hooked talons began to worry at the rock, like a cat kneading an unsuspecting human's lap, and the Dragon dropped his jaw closer to the Mage's.

"It is not a tale I could ever tell lightly," Maes confided, though the soft tones of a Dragon were no quieter than a child's shout. "And…though Roy trusts you, I cannot trespass so far on his privacy. If you do not know, then I may not tell you. I'm sorry."

Chains rattled in Edward's minds, silver chains encasing black wings, and why was that mystery never far from the surface?

By the time Roy returned with the promised 'refreshments', his friend and his guest were idly discussing basic water charms, as though no secret words had darkened their lips

* * *

Another week passed, swift as sunrise, and Edward was finishing yet another in an endless series of sketches when Maes announced his intention to leave.

The gloom that came with his statement was instant, and smothering; Roy closed his eyes with the quickness of a flinch, his claws rang out against the stone of the floor, and Maes curled his snout around to nuzzle the drooping head of his friend.

Edward thought it best to leave the two Dragons alone, gathering up his things and departing with unusual haste.

The next morning, true to his word, Maes climbed the northern tower, Roy at his heels, and launched himself from their lives with only the briefest backwards glance. His wings were fuelled by some strange urgency, swift, sure beats carrying him up and away with the effortless grace of a creature born to roam the skies.

When the blue Dragon was but a fading speck on the horizon, Roy clambered smoothly down from his high perch, dropping, catlike, to the ground with a thud that set Edward's teeth a-chatter. The Dragon turned his head upwards, his nostrils dilating to take in the scent of the air, and he sighed, deeply, heavily.

Edward stepped cautiously closer. Roy's moods were fickle and capricious at the best of times. "Why did he not stay longer?" he asked, desperately curious, but aware that he might easily be goading his host.

For a long while, Roy continued to stare at the sky, not answering, then he swung his head round to face the Mage. Edward almost recoiled- such desolation, such loss, echoed in those pearly eyes, the despair of a thousand scarred, burnt-out ships, the despair of as lone survivor's gaze…

"Male Dragons cannot co-exist peacefully for long," the Dragon replied, softly. "He and I would have killed each other, had he stayed. Besides," Roy turned away, heading for the castle's entrance, "he has his mate and his egg to think of."

The Mage watched the Dragon disappear, his black form melting into the shadows of the keep. He lingered in the courtyard for some time, turning his face upwards to the sun. His hands gripped his staff, hard, clenched fists about gnarled wood, then he bowed his head, his shoulders slumped, and he followed Roy into the darkness.

* * *

The thought occurred whilst he was copying from rough some observations of ice Dragon conformation. The complimentary nature of muscles employed for swimming and those employed for flying sparked a thought, a niggling, bothersome sort of a thought that had been on the tip of Edward's mind for some time, but to which he had never been able to give shape.

Until now. The enormity of the revelation bowled the Mage over, caused him to freeze where he sat, pen dropping from nerveless fingers, and stare stupidly at the row of books before him. How could he never have noticed?

In a trice, the wizard was on his feet and sprinting from the room, knocking over the chair in his haste to find the Dragon.

Roy's head lifted from its position, resting on his crossed forelegs, as Edward thundered into the room, and he raised one of his ridged eyebrows in polite question.

Edward, panting furiously in the doorway, flung up an arm to point a quivering finger at the Dragon, his mouth flapping as he attempted to form words. "You…you c-can't fly!" he gasped, eventually, stuttering a little in his anxiousness.

The Dragon's eyebrow arched further and he shifted, his chained wings tinkling merrily. "Bravo. You have eyes. Was there something you wanted, mageling?"

"No, shut up, wait, you can't…you can't fly, you can't leave the castle…how…bastard, if you c-can't fly, then how…?"

"Sit down, Edward, you've changed colour. Humans are not meant to resemble milk, are they?"

The Mage's legs seemed to cut out from underneath him at the casual request, and he flumped to the floor, gaping helplessly at the Dragon, his hands waving vaguely to illustrate what he was apparently unable to say. Roy sighed, a tiny burst of fire issuing between his teeth, and levered himself to his feet. He stepped closer to the Mage, curling himself around the shaking figure to surround him with warmth, and rested his jaw on his foreclaws at the wizard's feet. He met the boy's wide, bewildered eyes.

"You wish to know how it was that a flightless Dragon stormed a faraway kingdom, and stole away a Princess, when it could not take leave of its prison?"

Edward nodded, dumbly, slumping back to lean against the Dragon's side without seeming to notice what it was he was resting on.

"Twas not my doing, but for happenstance I would have not set eye on your brother's lady."

"Then how…?"

"Hush now, Fullmetal. Let me tell you a tale…"


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_

_

* * *

_

"There is a simple explanation. I did not take the Princess."

Edward summoned enough of his natural scorn to raise an eyebrow at Roy, who chuckled. "In all seriousness, I am not the villain of this particular story, though I freely admit that I took advantage of the situation that presented itself. From the scraps of information I could glean from the Princess's captors, and from my scant knowledge of the current state of affairs, this is the story I have constructed.

"The world beyond this castle is troubled. Nature's magic fades, forged anew in the fires of human artifice, and the creatures of the old world retreat with every day, sinking into the mire of legend with nary a sound. The earth's pulse has changed, echoing the urgency of the new order, the new ruling race that walks on two legs instead of four. The kingdom of Amestris, seated over the thumping heart of the world, marks the boundary between myth and fact. You know of what I speak, Fullmetal."

Edward raised his steel arm. "Machinery and magic," he said, watching the Dragon's eyes catch on shining metal. "Nature and technology, wrought by our intellect."

Roy nodded. The Mage eyed him. "But what does that have to do with-"

"Peace, Mageling. Stars, have I not taught you a Dragon's patience?" Roy interrupted, in a fondly exasperated tone. Edward settled, scowling. "Better. Now, I am given to understand that humanity dwells in many different corners of the world, each settlement made up of individual races, much as the Dragons divided themselves between species." The Dragon paused, raising an eyebrow in question.

"You are…basically correct," Edward confirmed, after a moment's hesitation. "Of course, the divisions are not along lines of species, rather history and culture."

"And skin colour," the Dragon interrupted, knowingly. "Your assessment of Draconic elements revealed much of your attitude towards your darker-skinned relations, whether conscious of not. You do not feel kinship with those others."

The Mage bristled. "If you are suggesting that I have a closed mind-"

"Nothing of that sort," Roy assured him, soothing his ruffled temper with a nudge of his nose. "I have never encountered a mind _more_ open; your mind, Fullmetal, is a great yawning chasm that demands every second to be filled, which is, no doubt, the reason for your incessant questioning."

The tease settled Edward's dignity, soothing the sudden fear that Roy thought ill of him; somehow, the Dragon's opinion of his character had become terribly important, over the weeks of his captivity. "Then what do you mean, Sir Dragon, by your words?"

"Fear of the stranger resides deep in the consciousness of all beings, not just humans. Perhaps your civilisations, built along the lines of the familiar, encourage rather than suppress this fear. I have ruminated long upon the qualities and limitations of humanity; if you are truly to inherit the world from we Dragons, it is only natural that we examine our successors, do not you agree? And my examination reveals a spirit of conquest in your species, a pioneering urge that may explain, in part, your success. This instinct to conquer, to overthrow an enemy and take his land, was the instinct that I first sensed drove those who kidnapped your country's heir."

Edward blinked. The abrupt return to the original subject of their conversation startled him, and he considered the Dragon's words carefully. "Couldn't you just have _said_ that, rather than muddling my mind with all this talk of philosophy?" he remarked, a little plaintively.

Roy laughed. "What is a story without philosophy?" he jested. "I should not like the almighty Fullmetal Mage to be bored by a simple tale of mundane events. Some grandiose scene-setting lends more drama to a narrative."

The Mage glared at his captor. "Shut up," he said, "and get on with it, if you please."

"I believe you ask the impossible of me," the Dragon responded, lazily, but he was astute enough not to further incite Edward's irritation. "Nevertheless, I shall continue. It is my belief that the Princess was taken captive by the order of a rival settlement of humans, for those that brought her here did not speak in your tongue; rather, theirs was the language of the desert, arid and harsh, but melodic with the rhythmic music of desert winds and moonlit nights."

"Deserts? You mean…Ishbal?"

"Yes."

"You speak Ishballan?"

Roy smirked. "Credit me with some intelligence, Edward. I speak the language of every bird, beast, rock and tree that has ever existed. Surely you did not think your gutter-tongue the only human language I knew?"

"It is not a gutter-tongue!" Edward snapped. "It's better than snarling to communicate!"

"And you claim to be open-minded."

Edward proceeded to contradict his statement by growling at the Dragon. "Roy," he hissed, angrily, and the Dragon raised a placating claw.

"My apologies. You are not in the mood for jesting, and I should delay my tale no longer."

"That would be nice; impossible, but nice."

Draconic laughter lit the air once more, causing even the fractious Mage to smile, and Roy continued his tale, weaving strands of intrigue and deception into coherence for the astounded wizard.

* * *

_It is the unfortunate lot of the night to act as accomplice and aid to any number of despicable deeds. Through no fault of its own, the shadows of nightfall have concealed immoralities and crimes since first creatures plotted ill against each other. On this night, it was a small band of men sheltering beneath the night's moonlit cloak, men travelling a foreign land with an unusual burden…_

"_The slumberweed's taking effect," on of the men whispered, into the rustling, organic quiet of the woodland._

"_Ishballa be praised," another grumbled. He was seated with his back against a treetrunk, skilfully carving the tough skin from one of its fruits with a hooked dagger. "I thought she was going to rant all night."_

_The first man grinned, white teeth shaded greyish-blue by the darkness. "You should be used to it, Mikras. She has wearied our ears all the way from Amestris, every hour of waking, through any gag we choose to apply. Amestris breeds its Princesses with fire in their hearts."_

"_There was going to be a knife through hers, had that caterwauling continued," Mikras retorted, sharply. Tall, long-limbed and heavily-built, he was not the obvious choice for a spy, assassin, and court-infiltrator, but he had built himself a reputation of efficiency and success, a reputation that had granted him this most delicate of assignments. "You should have revealed your cache of slumberweed earlier, and saved my poor ears," he chided his companion, good-naturedly._

_The second man, a shorter and slighter individual who went by the name of Kareesh, shrugged. "I did not know if we would find any in this land," he answered, his earlier jocularity giving way to seriousness. "Our knowledge of this country's plant life is far from complete. Besides, I had hoped the toil of the road might wear down his tongue."_

"_From your lips to Ishballa's ears," Mikras said, fervently, and with that, he hauled himself to his feet. "You have secured her on the pony?"_

_Kareesh nodded, lifting his pack from the ground. "She will not come to any harm, and she will not wriggle free when she wakes."_

"_Excellent. I should hate to present the emperor with damaged goods."_

"_You liar," the shorter man teased. "You have no more wish to hurt that girl than any of us. If we did require such a strong bargaining tool with so desperate a need, I fancy you could not have been reconciled to this task at all."_

_Mikras frowned, heavy brows drawing low over red eyes. He and Kareesh had undergone their training together, many years ago, and he was perhaps the only man who would dare to challenge the merciless reputation Mikras had created. "I do as my lord bids," he said, slowly, inviting a snort from his friend._

"_You do as your lord bids when it suits your conscience," came the retort._

_The lead spy growled, silencing his companion. The night had been long; light was beginning to permeate the shroud of darkness, and they needed to find a sheltered place to rest out the day before continuing their long journey home. They made their swift preparations to depart and, laden with packs and with their sturdy pony in tow, they set off._

_Good sense dictated that the wood was a safe resting place, away from prying eyes and open ground, but the trail markers carved into many of the trees gave Mikras pause; there was at least one village or town nearby that frequently entered the forest, frequently enough that the trail markers had been worn down and re-cut several times over. It could be that the hunting was particularly good, or that trees were regularly felled; even, Ishballa forbid, that there was some sort of settlement contained within the heart of the wood. All in all, Mikras' well-honed instincts turned him away from the tempting possibility of resting where they stood, driving him instead to lead his companion and their drugged captive out of the dense trees._

_They walked, in silence, shadows dissipating around them as the first, tentative fingers of dawn's light began to stroke their tendrils across the lightening sky, walking until they reached…ah, yes, this would do nicely._

_Mikras eyed the castle walls, just visible from the foot of the fire mountain, and turned to his friend with a smile of triumph._

"_It is a little…conspicuous," Kareesh said, dubiously. "How do you propose enticing the pony up there?"_

_Mikras smiled, grimly. "By giving it no other option."_

* * *

_The stone was so deliciously cool. Mikras sighed with tired satisfaction, settling down on the floor with a long, agonised movement. The pony had taken a great deal of convincing and a considerable amount of cursing before it completed the precarious journey across the rope bridge; common sense told him that such a feat was impossible, but for the fact that the sturdy beast was munching gratefully from a nosebag, tethered to a ring in the wall a couple of feet away. _

_Their resting place had revealed itself to be empty of human occupation by its state of disrepair. Crumbling stone littered the huge fortification, doors hung askew if they hung at all and there was no evidence of homely touches, like wall hangings, rugs, general human debris. Kareesh, who was absorbed in the task of trussing the sleeping Princess and covering her with a blanket, had voiced concerns that human occupants were not the thing to be worried about, but Mikras had overruled his objections. If some demon inhabited the deserted castle, it would have challenged their entry from the first step across the threshold._

_The spy found himself fingering the protection charm that hung on a leather thong from his neck, and he busied himself searching his pack for provisions._

_Kareesh, finishing his task with a grunt, made his way over to collapse next to his captain. "Princess secured, sir," he said, with joking deference. "Might we risk a hot dinner tonight, since we have walls to shield us from unfriendly eyes?"_

"_And how exactly were you planning to build a fire?"_

_The shorter man grinned. "I took the liberty of stowing a little dry wood alongside the Princess whilst we made our way, just in case."_

_Mikras shook his head. "Anyone would think you were on your first mission," he remarked to the hardened veteran, his tone jocular. "One of His Lordship's elite must be able to survive upon the most basic rations, in the toughest terrain, for however long his task demands it."_

"_Oh, absolutely. I completely agree. But I also know that one of those packs over there contains a certain spice that we brought with us from home, and that my captain is very easily won over by the thought of a particular meal prepared as his mother made it."_

_Mikras laughed at his irrepressible friend's antics. "Truly, you are a sage amongst men," he teased. "Very well, you may have your fire. I shall cook the last of the rice. We will feast, in honour of our luck in finding this place."_

_Flame flickered to life; in the darkness, many rooms away, a reptilian eye snapped open._

* * *

_Mikras sighed happily as he set his bowl aside; Kareesh had outdone himself. "A most hearty meal," he congratulated his second, magnanimously. "Now you may put the fire out."_

_His friend made a face. "You will not allow me even a moment's rest," he complained, good-naturedly, though he rose to do his captain's bidding. "Ishballa forbid I sit down for longer than five heartbeats together."_

"_Ishballa forbid you go about your work in silence," Mikras retorted, amused. "Have you no concept of silence?"_

"_You have long since beaten it out of me," came the response, but Mikras was far too full and relaxed to take offence._

"_I have not beaten you since we were children."_

_Kareesh snorted. "One suspects that is not through a lack of trying, old friend."_

_Mikras made to reply, but paused. The hairs on the back of his neck were tingling, all of a sudden; the air tasted different, wrong, a wrongness that previously had not been there. He halted Kareesh's actions with a glance and sprang from his repose into a wary crouch, one hand going to the hilt of his curved sword. The Ishballan concentrated._

_There was something in the darkness beyond, something…alive. Perhaps he had been rash to dismiss the castle's demons. Signalling to Kareesh with a single gesture, Mikras backed slowly towards the defenceless Princess, careful that even his clothes should make no noise as they shifted against each other. Kareesh followed suit, releasing his own sword from its sheathe with a barely-audible _schnick. _They waited, both stood over the unconscious girl, who was their captive and responsibility._

_A minute passed, two, three…When some time had elapsed without incident, without even the faintest breath of another creature, Mikras allowed himself to relax; he sensed Kareesh doing the same. All of these months on the road, under constant fear of attack- he had grown paranoid indeed. He released his sword hilt._

_The same moment, the same instant, the far wall _exploded_ inwards. Throwing himself into a protective crouch over the Princess, Mikras closed his eyes tight against the dust, coughing, wincing as bits of rubble struck him. Heat followed, searing, unbearable heat, the smoke of burning flesh; his own, he realised, just before the pain sent him, screaming, into unconsciousness._

* * *

_Light._

_Light, reddened beyond his closed eyelids, and pain. Mikras groaned, various part of his body whimpering pained signals to him; what had happened? He did not remember a fight, there was no pressure of a sword hilt in his had…Oh, his head was _spinning_, whirling relentlessly, if only he could move a hand to lay against-_

_He could not move._

_Realisation, he knew sudden horror, and Mikras opened his eyes to see something huge and black pinning him to the floor, ferociously-hot against his skin, smooth as leather, and beyond…A massive, pearlescent eye, set in an impossibly-large reptilian face. It was watching him, with interest._

"_My last intruder was cooked within his own iron shell," the creature remarked, when it was sure of Mikras' attention. "But then, he did attempt to murder me whilst I slept. Your complete ignorance of my presence has granted you your life, little thief, is that not marvellous?"_

"_Lord-" Mikras began, then broke away to cough; his throat was raw with smoke._

"_No, no, I should not speak if I were you. A Dragon's fire is not so easily shrugged off as a head wound, and you have a prodigious one of those." The Dragon lowered his head, close enough to inspect his captive. "A human of your years should no better than to interrupt my sleep. For what purpose have you come here? Wherefore do you bring this girl? I hope you did not intend her as sacrifice, Princesses give me the most appalling wind."_

_The Dragon's tone was flippant, amused, but it did not make any move to release him. Mikras' mind raced, countless useless plans flying through his mind. "Mighty lord," he said, eventually, once the fierce burn in his throat abated. "My friend and I, we offer you no insult. We are merely travellers, seeking refuge against unfriendly eyes."_

"_With some nation's Princess bound and gagged in your custody, I am not surprised that those eyes are unfriendly," the Dragon snorted, but it relented its grip, lifting the taloned paw to allow Mikras to sit slowly up. Glancing around, the Ishballan noted that Kareesh was being similarly held under the other great foreclaw, blood trickling down the side of his face, which was slack with unconsciousness._

_The sight recalled him, suddenly, to his own wounds, and he lifted a hand to investigate- yes, he did indeed have a head wound, but it felt shallow. His arms were covered with tiny scratches, his ribs felt bruised when he tried to draw in a deep breath, but that seemed to be the limit of the damage. He looked up at the Dragon. "I must thank you for sparing my life," he said, cautiously. "And that of my companion."_

_The Dragon snorted again. "I have no use for a corpse or two more," he said. "Pray answer my question truthfully. Why are you here?"_

_With a second glance to assure himself that Kareesh did indeed live, Mikras resigned himself to relating the tale. "We are assassins," he began, "In the employ of the High Chief of Ishbal. It is His Highness' wish that we might barter peace with the ancestral enemy of our fair land, the kingdom of Amestris-"_

"_So you stole their Princess?"_

_Mikras shook his head. "Merely as a bargaining tool; we do not wish harm upon her, save when her cursing threatens to draw unwanted attention to us. We have been travelling for several weeks now, seeking to return to our homeland, that we might declare to the Amestrians our wish to have peace. They a warlike people, closed of mind and heart, and without some form of leverage, our diplomacy will surely fail."_

_The Dragon's gaze had turned thoughtful. "Then you are men of honour," he mused, aloud. "Mayhap I have been too hasty in my judgement…Tell me, assassin, what is the history of your two nations?"_

* * *

Edward's fists clenched. "Those damned Ishaballans!" he snarled, interrupting the Dragon's story. "Dark-skinned devils, how dare they commit so heinous an act!"

Roy eyed him. "They sought peace," he said, mildly, but Edward would not hear it.

"Peace, hah! What manner of leader seeks peace through such means? To kidnap an innocent girl and drag her into such danger-"

"Fullmetal." The Dragon's voice was pure steel, and the Mage halted despite himself. "The sincerity of humans is difficult to judge, but that human was sincere. He sought only to bring harmony to his homeland; recall, if you will, his instinct to defend the Princess from all harm."

"But-"

"No, Fullmetal."

Edward subsided. "And what became of them? Since you so obviously did not allow them to leave with the Princess?"

Roy examined one of his claws for dirt, nonchalantly. "Oh, I sent them on their way. They no doubt made their way home many weeks ago, with empty hands and tales of fearsome Dragons to tell their Chief. I could not return the Princess to her home, nor could I release her, for she might have fallen prey to some evil force more villainous than I. Besides," here the Dragon cocked an eye at Edward, "what do you think would have happened, if she had made it all the way home with the story of a nefarious band of Ishballans stealing her away?"

The Mage considered this, for a moment, and his eyes grew wide. "It would have been war," he whispered, horrified, and the Dragon nodded.

"She believes that it was I who plotted her capture, and somehow conspired to hire mercenaries to bring her here; we Dragons are renowned for keeping noblewomen as our captives, are we not? Though where that legend came from I shall never know."

Edward stared at his captor. "You would paint yourself the villain, to avert a human war?"

Roy met his gaze. "Anything for a little publicity," he said, then grinned. "Have I satisfied your curiosity, Fullmetal? Or is that too foolish a notion?"


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

A bit of an odd chapter, this...hope you enjoy it, anyway!

* * *

_Why shouldn't he be fooled by the dream? It had seemed so real, after all._

_Edward of Elric chewed at the end of his pencil, staring through the window in a distant fashion. Central City sprawled beneath him, the massive walled city a testament to the strength and ingenuity of the Amestrian people, though none of its magnificent spired towers stood as tall as the one he currently occupied. The Palace of Light was inn, university and court for any Mage that chose its hospitality; centre of schooling for the Quicksilver Order, testing ground for combat Mages hoping to enlist in the Mercury Circle, seat of justice for the trial of magical transgressors and final resting place for the most honoured members of each of the Five Orders; Quicksilver, Starshade, Turquall, Lytefire and Ressylion. It had been Edward's home since he became the country's youngest Mage, all those years ago._

_The eldest Elric turned away from the view with a sigh, ignoring the nagging voice that insisted he head out and take some air before sunset. The parchment in front of him was covered in dense, tightly-packed scribblings in his own untidy hand, the writing so cramped that he could barely read it even with his nose mere inches from the words. It had become his practice, of late, to sleep with both pencil and parchment to hand, and his sleeping self had covered page after page with endless notes and diagrams, all concerned with one single purpose; the study of Dragons._

_Studying the latest batch of nearly-indecipherable notations had taken up the greater part of his day. The intense wealth of detail astounded him, as did the elaborate fantasy his sleeping mind had concocted. A Dragon, capable of human speech and intelligence, that possessed a moral character superior to humanity's? The whole thing was a nonsense, contrary to every fact ever recorded about Dragons. They were vicious, territorial creatures, prone to extreme greed and capable of only the darkest deeds; why, civilisation owed its very existence to the fearless courage of human Knights, whose tireless stand against the relentless assault of the Dragons had saved many a town from ruin by the beasts._

_So why was his mind so intent on constructing this false image? Night after night, the dreams had come; dreams of a lone Dragon, chained in his castle, and of the dark history the this Dragon related, piece by piece, to his enamoured dream self. Edward might almost suspect Sorcery, had the last Sorceror not been vanquished generations ago._

_The Mage was distracted from his musings by a knock at the door. "Enter!" he called, hastily pulling a book open to cover the parchment and turning to the door._

_Sir Alphonse of Elric, Knight Champion to the King's second daughter, poked his head into the room. "Still at your books, brother?" he asked, cheerfully. "You have been holed up in here all day, fusticating like a Ressylion elder when the sun has been shining so beautifully."_

_"You may keep the sun," Edward informed his brother, importantly. "We Mages have better things to do with our time than fritter it away with silliness."_

_Alphonse laughed, causing his older brother to grin, and clapped a hand to the wizard's shoulder. "That is as may be, O Splendid One, but even a Quicksilver Mage needs a little sunlight every now and then. Come, the Princess requests our company at dinner and she has charged me with ensuring that you appear in clothes befitting of your rank."_

_Edward groaned as he was dragged to his feet and pushed in the direction of his wardrobe. "Must I attend?" he whined, putting up a token show of resistance. "You and Winry will spend the entire time directing huge calf-eyes at each other and I'll have to talk to boring diplomats who only want to suck up to me so I'll perform some stupid magic for their awful country. And my dress robes are uncomfortable."_

_"Your dress robes are very becoming," Alphonse told him, mock-sternly, as he riffled through the shambolic wardrobe in search of the appropriate garments. "Red and black as you requested, brother, even though Quicksilver's colours are grey and blue. Besides, it's only one night out of the month and I'm off troll-hunting tomorrow, it'll be our last chance to eat together for months."_

_At that, Edward's sulkiness gave way to a more serious air. "You are resigned to it, then?"_

_The Knight shrugged. "I have little choice," he said, lightly. "Either we route out these monsters now, or see the harvests fail because the farmers had no-one to protect them. Anyway, the city stifles me, you know that; it will be good to be on horseback in the country once more."_

_"It will be good to be smiting the forces of evil once more, you mean," the Mage commented, with an older brother's wry insight. "You have been chafing at your own bit for weeks, Al, don't think you were being subtle. I was half-expecting you to go haring off last Monday when that crazy old man wandered into the open court and starting spouting dire prophecies about a fire-Dragon gone mad in the north-west."_

_Tugging the dusty outer-robe from Edward's shoulders in advance of replacing it with the refined elegance of his courtly attire, Alphonse acknowledged his brother's perceptiveness with a smile. "What a fool I should have looked, too."_

_"More than you usually do?" Edward teased, then ducked under the swing Alphonse aimed at his head and took up his staff from its mounting on the wall. "Come on, then, if we're going, may as well hold your hand if you can't face all those politicans alone; honestly, my little brother, the great Knight, afraid of a few wet-nosed, pen-pushing, backstabbing-"_

_"Yes, brother."_

* * *

_The Great Hall was impossibly hot. Edward scowled as he tugged at the collar of his shirt. Royalty often dined at the Palace of Light, enjoying the ancient grandeur of the vaulted ceilings and the impressive, magic-soaked elegance of its construction. The Palace was older than the city, older even than the office of Kingship, and the monarchs knew it was their duty to honour their most august subjects._

_Tonight, the largest of the Palace's ballrooms was a veritable thrashing ocean of colours. The muted refinement of Quicksilver grey and blue served to brighten the harsh purple and gold that marked out the Lytefire Mages; similarly, forest greens and browns mingled with the lofty dignity of white and silver where Turquall wizards met their Starshade bretheren. Even a smattering of Ressylion Mages, resplendent in burgundy, had descended from their isolated studies to enjoy the royal spectacle. Not to mention the whirling, twirling, kaleidoscope display provided by the richly-clad nobility, gaily flitting from acquaintance to enemy and back with barely a change of demeanour. At the centre of the furore, Princess Winry clasped her betrothed's arm, glowing with life and happiness, all the beauty of the Faye shimmering from her as Sir Alphonse escorted her about the room._

_It was all so boring. Edward snorted into his chalice (plum juice, thank the Stars, his reputation had preceded him and not a drop of alcohol had darkened his evening). These extravagant occasions were all very well, but he could not celebrate his presence here; this was the pinnacle of society, glorifying and enjoying itself, hypocrisy and innocence dancing hand-in-hand, and he would much rather be spending his evening alone with a large sandwich and a hefty tome of magical theory._

_"My, my, Fullmetal Mage, how bored you look."_

_Startled, Edward whirled, combat instincts sending him into a defensive crouch, staff raised. The speaker raised an eyebrow at him, brushing at a now-juice-spattered sleeve. "Good evening."_

_The Mage relaxed, bringing his staff back to the floor and meeting the man's look with a glare. "Only an idiot surprises a Quicksilver wizard," he stated, coolly._

_The stranger, a sturdily-built man who looked possess around thirty years of age, tilted his head so that shaggy black hair fell into impossibly-dark eyes. "I had thought you might hear my footsteps," he returned, gesturing to shiny black boots encasing his legs up to the knee. "Perhaps you were too deeply engaged in projecting death at the company below."_

_Edward grinned. "I was, a little," he admitted, amused to be caught out. "And you have me at a disadvantage, sir. Though I know you are from some sort of ancient family, and a fairly rich one, and I could know more by probing your mind, it is more polite for me to ask you your name."_

_The noble dipped into an extravagant bow, hard muscle flexing under silk and velvet. "My friends call me Roy," he said._

* * *

Edward awoke with a start. His breath came fast and sharp, urgent as the fluttering of his heart, and he struggled free of tangled sheets to stumble to shuttered windows, throwing wooden panels wide open so that the crisp coolness of the night could caress his heated skin. The stench of brimstone hit him, grounding him in an instant, and he leaned on the cold roughness of the castle's stone. That had been...a most distressingly-vivid dream. But just a dream- he was certain of that. Visions left a sour taste, a queasiness in their wake and dreams left only a memory.

He could still hear the Dragon's voice, smoother, smaller, less resonant; it sounded wrong from a human's mouth, ill-suited to so soft and small a vehicle. Running a shaking hand through messy blond hair, Edward blinked at the shadow of the treeline beyond the volcano's jagged rim, feeling his brother's large, calloused hand wrapped around his arm once again, the touch from a dream constructed from memories; sudden longing for Alphonse filled him, opening like a wound inside him, and he found himself blinking moisture from burning eyes. Stars, he had been so caught up in the Dragon's story that he had forgotten his own...

Spinning on his heel, the Mage summoned flame to his hand with a muttered incantation and picked up one of the many omnipresent sticks of chalk from his desk. Kneeling, spinning the fire into a ball that he tossed into the air to light his work, Edward hurriedly began to scrawl circular sigils into the floor, working with fevered energy until symbols of the scrying art surrounded him. Taking a moment to compose himself, drawing the magical flame back into his chest so that his energies could be focused entirely on a single task, the Fullmetal Mage allowed power to build behind his eyes, waking the magic in the circle with the enticing pull of his own magical energy. The white heat of oracle began to diffuse through his body, warming his blood and boiling in his belly. Edward opened his eyes, felt the world shrink, and cast his consciousness out, sailing over the dull mass of humanity to the burning brand of his brother's flame.

The images took several heartbeats to crystallize into clarity. Scrying was never an exact magic, one that Edward preferred to avoid due to its tricky, unreliable nature. However, his deep bond with Alphonse made locating a vision of the Knight comparatively easy, no matter how far away he might be.

The first picture to become clear was that of Alphonse himself. Edward smiled to see his brother's honeyed hair, shining even in the weak autumn sunlight; this vision was a sight of his brother from the very recent past, not the current moment. The Knight was seated on...ah, a rock, he was outside. Edward's brow furrowed as nature's green began to colour in the background; what cause did Alphonse have to be in the wild north? That vegetation was unique to the north of Amestris, but Alphonse was meant to be in Central with...oh, but Winry was seated next to him, the Princess' usual finery replaced with leather and honest cotton, an adventurer's outfit.

Edward strained to make out their location, grappled with the sullen shifting magics until the images resolved themselves with greater sharpness. Alphonse was holding his sword, its blade black with what looked to be ogre blood...what cause would the Knight have, endangering his lady on a monster-slaying hunt so soon after their return from the Dragon's keeping?

But that was not all...the Mage concentrated, fuelling the circle with the strong flame of his own power, too impatient to wait for the magic to coalesce by itself. Alphonse looked weary, dark circles surrounding his eyes, Edward's heart thudded painfully in his chest for his little brother's exhausted countenance, then his eye caught on something clasped in the hand that Winry held in her own; a flash of purple and green, some sort of plant. As if prompted by the Mage's curiosity, Alphonse opened his fist to reveal...

Oh Stars, no. Not that. Anything but that...That flower was jealously guarded by the trolls of the northern hills, thriving only under their simple but diligent care, and Alphonse must have braved the rage of those fierce guardians to have acquired so fine and plentiful a specimen. Edward released the magic of the oracle slowly, replacing magic's light in his veins with the heaviness of exertion. The sight of that deadly plant in his little brother's grasp, that singular flower whose name would strike fear into any reptilian heart.

Dragonsbane.


	15. Chapter 15

I, er, appear to have committed an oversight in my last chapter with the dream sequence; to those of you who have expressed enthusiastic hopes of Roy possessing the ability to become human, I am afraid I must disappoint you. In this universe, Dragons cannot shapeshift of their own accord, I'm sorry :( The prophetic nature of the dream, well, shall we say that a Mage's sleeping mind is a little more potent in what it tells its owner, and a million times more cryptic!

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist

* * *

"My, sirrah, such a melancholy expression."

Edward jumped at the deep, amused voice as it boomed behind him. Glancing up, squinting against the bare whiteness of the cloud-strewn sky. Roy's head filled his vision, snaked out on his long neck, and the Mage snorted at him. "Melancholy is a sign of deep intelligence and philosophical reflection," he informed the Dragon, who laughed.

"Or sulking. Come, Fullmetal, what ails you? I would be lax in my duties as host if I did not enquire."

The Dragon settled as he spoke, bending first his forelegs then his rear to rest in a lion's pose, forepaws stretched neatly out in front of him. Edward took the opportunity to shuffle back, leaning his back against warm black scale; autumn was well-advanced now, whispering of winter, crisp in the wind's chill and rich in the riotous tumbling red of the tree's leaves, and metal limbs had a tendency to make one shiver. Roy lowered his head to nudge the Mage closer, breathing out a long, hot, sulphurous breath over the human's head. "I do not jest, Mage," he said, as gently as his gruff voice could allow. "Do not think your seven-night misery has passed unnoticed. You had not even the energy to bicker with the carter, when he came."

Edward had to smile at his host's perceptiveness. "Perhaps I have merely developed a mature and mellow temper under your guidance?"

"And perhaps the herds of swine cultivated by humans have taken to the sky like birds. Pray, do not insult my-"

Before the Dragon could complete his retort, however, there came a sharp, bugling cry from the distant trees at the base of the volcano. Roy immediately tensed to rise, muscles bulging beneath scaled skin. "Get inside the keep."

"Wh-"

The Dragon rose, a low growl beginning in his throat, accompanied by the _crack_ of his tail lashing. "I do not think you would wish to witness murder," he snapped. "Only the Knights of Seremayde announce their arrival with that note. Dragonslayers, Dragonslayers all, hunting egg-mothers and burning dragonets whilst they sleep; get you _gone_, Fullmetal!"

Roy's voice rose as he spoke, growl reverberating up to a ferocious crescendo that shattered in Edward's ears; fear gripped him, instinctive, gut-wrenching fear that had not held him in its paralysing grasp since the Dragon had first pinned him to the floor with fire glimmering behind massive fangs. There was no trace of Edward's gentle, sarcastic, deeply-intelligent friend in this beast, this mighty serpent demon screaming its challenge to the sky. The Mage scrambled to his feet, no thought of argument in his mind, and ran for the castle; he could feel Roy's footsteps throbbing through the ground as the Dragon began to pace angrily, scoring the rock beneath massive talons with torturous squeals. Edward ran, his heart thudding loud in his ears, and did not slow until the now-familiar pitted wood of his door swung open before him and he fell into the safety of his own tower bedroom.

Panting from exertion, the Mage stood for a moment, leaning on his staff, then scrambled to his window, muttering a charm of clear vision to enhance his view; out in the courtyard Roy was still circling, wings mantling, straining against their chains, gouts of fire spilling from his lips as he paced like an angry cat.

Time passed, measured only by Edward's gradually-slowing breaths and the restless movement of the Dragon; then footsteps in the keep, echoing throughout the castle's emptiness, metallic footsteps of full battle armour thudding on the worn stone. In the yard, Roy halted, dropping to a crouch. "Come to me, Dragonslayers!" he roared, loud enough to quiver the stone of the castle's walls. "Come to your deaths!"

As Edward watched from his high tower, the dark shadows of the massive doorway spewed forth the shining figures of four burly knights, each as tall and broad as Alphonse, each clad in what looked to be battle-hardened armour, bright with polish but battered with long use. Edward realised, with a sickening chill, that each Knight sported a necklace of Dragons' teeth about his neck, trophies displaying their prowess. Each also wore a helmet topped with an extravagant plume of turquoise feathers; the Seremayde Knighthood's trademark, a badge of honour won only by the Knight's first kill. Edward had heard tales of their valour, their nigh-inhuman bravery in their quest to vanquish great titanic beasts from the world; and yet, in all of the tales told about them, never once was it actually explained _why_ these creatures required vanquishing.

Certainly Roy did not.

The Dragon's claws were biting into the ground, rending it apart as he kneaded his paws in ferocious anticipation. "I would know the names of my assassins."

The lead Knight, distinguished from the others by the sheer mass of fangs hanging from his neck, raised his visor at the Dragon's hail, stepping forwards to bow; a great flail hung from his waist, glinting with frost and acid enchantments, there was a broadsword strapped to his back and he held in his hand a spear that was half his height again. "Anlock of Drask," he said, on rising from his bow; his voice was accented with the soft, loamy tones of the southlands. "Lord Knight Commander of the Seremayde. I present my companions; my brother, Sir Anwyn of Drask, Sir Gerhard of Rhicht and Sir Fawleston of Moldevin's Lake."

The three other Knights stepped forwards in turn. Each was as heavily armed as the leader, sporting a grisly array of swords, war hammers, wicked curved scimitars and swords. Each hefted a halberd in his right hand.

"I have never heard your name spoken, Lord Drask," Roy said, dismissively. "Though your courage must be great indeed, if have slain so many of my brothers and sisters. Tell me, did you hunt them out in the high and low places of hiding, or did you actually hear tell of evildoing before seeking their heads?"

Anlock leaned on his spear, casually. "The evil of Dragons is inherent to their nature. You are lowly beasts, raised by unholy gods to human intelligence that you might thwart humanity's doings. It is only fitting and right that we seek to end your wickedness, as we have pledged to protect all peoples of this land."

Roy snarled. "What power have _you_ to decide who may live or die? What right have you, ignorant meat sack, to condemn us without reason or proof?"

The Knight snapped his visor down in response, hefting his spear and dropping into fighting stance. "Your existence is proof enough! Die, foul creature!"

Quick as whip, Roy _pounced, _scattering the Knights like chaff, destroying their formation. The Dragon's tail lashed, slicing the air with a horrific whining noise as he focused on the lead Knight; Anlock raised a a hand as the Dragon drew in breath to flame, his lips moving in an incantation that Edward recognized as a guard against fire, and not a moment too soon. Fire engulfed the Knight, a broiling tempest of flame that ended with a roar of pain; taking advantage of the Dragon's intent, the other three Knights had seized their chance to sink their long-range weapons into him from three sides. This done, as the Dragon flailed to relieve himself of the pain, Anwyn, Gerhard and Fawleston each draw a new weapon from their belts and, as one, charged beneath the vulnerable underbelly.

Edward's hands clenched into fists as magic srpung, automatically, to his lips. This was not his fight. He could not interfere in the Dragon's battle, though his hands fought to trace circles of casting into the rock of the windowsill.

Below, the last leaves of flame were dying around Anlock, revealing the Knight to be completely unharmed. He, now, joined the fray, running headlong towards the Dragon, his spear pointed at the thrashing black throat. Perhaps sensing his danger, or perhaps reacting to the threat below, Roy threw himself into the air, rearing up on his back legs to his full, impressive height; the now-exposed Knights swarmed back, experienced enough in Dragon fighting to turn their backs as Roy once again turned the world red, descending through his flame to shake the mountain with his impact.

The smoke and dust raised completely obscured Edward's view, but he could catch glimpses of writhing scaled limbs, hear the pained oaths of the Knights and the terrible _thunk_ of weapons into flesh. Heat burned the Mage's eyes, acrid with the black smog of the Dragon's fire, and he strained instead to try and distinguish what was going on beneath the churning fog.

The scene glowed red, orange, Roy _screamed_...Edward's heart was hammering in his chest, what could cause his host and friend to make so dreadful a cry?

Unable to stand it any longer, Edward hurriedly took a stick of chalk from his belt pouch and scrawled the symbol for 'wind' on the wall, muttering to light it and pressing his fingertips to its outer circle to send a gale gusting through the courtyard. Wind bullied the clustered dust cloud, nipped in all its edges like a sheepdog worrying its flock, and cast the seething mass high into the sky at Edward's bidding. The scene that it revealed was carnage.

Blood spattered the courtyard, rich red and brackish blueish-purple, both human and Dragon. Dented scraps of armour, some melted onto the grisly flesh they had been created to protect, littered the area, bone and meat and the awful debris of wasted life. Of the Knights, only Fawleston lay whole, his eyes wide open in death, his charred hand burned onto the crumbling hulk of his sword. In the centre of the battlefield, Roy lay unmoving, shimmering black scale turned dull with blood.

Horror gripped Edward, held him for a moment, then his training kicked in. Struggling up onto the parapet, staff held tight in both hands, the Mage launched himself into the air, barking an incantation that brought the wind skipping back to him, ruffling his clothes and snuffing his face in the manner of a friendly terrier as it slowed his headlong descent, cushioning his plummet so that he landed gently on his feet. Ignoring the gruesome evidence of combat, Edward hurried to the Dragon's side, putting out a hand to touch blood-sticky scale. Closing his eyes, the Mage concentrated.

The Dragon was alive. His life rhythm stuttered, though, as he touched it, skipped a beat, then burned like a brand as Edward brushed against it. The presence curled, spread its wings in answer to his silent question, and kinked like an amused smirk in his mind.

_Fear not, Fullmetal Mage, I yet live, _Roy's voice sounded, hoarse with exertion, inside his head. _Though if you could stem the blood flow, I am sure that would assist my awakening._

* * *

In the end, it took nigh-on an hour for Roy to awaken.

Edward sat beside him the entire time, one eye upon the healings he had wrought upon the Dragon's battered hide. The Knights had known their business; huge scars now marred Roy's underbelly, terrible gashes split the weaker scales of his shoulders, and only the accursed silver chains had saved the Dragon's from being rent beyond healing. Luckily, Edward's casting had sealed the wounds, secured them against rot and filth, and he had only to wait for the Dragon to stir.

Roy shifted, enormous mass of muscles rolling and heaving, then his pearly eyes opened, dazed at first then growing sharper as they focused in on the Mage. "I owe you thanks."

"Indeed you do," the Mage agreed, covering the joyful leap of relief that bounded to life inside his breast. "Had I known you would be so wearied by your attempt to make human soup, milord, I should have offered my services sooner."

The Dragon laughed at that, clambering with infinitesimal weariness to his feet. "Alas, 'twas not any fight for a decent being. These _hunters _knew nothing of honour, there would have been naught but evil blood upon your flesh and metal hands."

"The Seremayde Knighthood is the organisation that has set humanity against Dragons," Edward said, calmly, feeling a jolt in his chest when the Dragon's look became- approving? Proud? "It is through their stories, and the legends that they have propagated, that we have taken all of our knowledge of you."

"Aye, you have the right of it, Fullmetal," Roy replied, with a yawn that showed every single one of his impressive array of fangs. "I take no joy in their deaths, where they would have glorified mine and taken my head for a trophy. Ah, I am getting too old for these ridiculous displays, I am utterly exhausted...will you go with me, Quicksilver Mage? I seek the comfort of my golden bed, and you have yet to tell me the nature of your sevenday depression."

Edward blinked up at the Dragon. "But...the courtyard," he said weakly.

The Dragon snorted. "Let the crows devour their sorry flesh," he snarled, flicking his tail in a derisive fashion. "You shall not escape my questioning so easily. Come!"


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: _Fullmetal Alchemist_ is not mine.

If you have a spare moment, chaps and chapesses, I strongly recommend that you check out this:

http:/never-home(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/The-Wizard-and-The-Wyrm-fanart-125407109

It is a rather splendid depiction of Mage!Ed drawn by never-home on deviantart, and it is quite superb. My hearty thanks and congratulations to the artist! :)

* * *

Why had he never noticed the diamond-brilliant contrast of gold and black?

Gold, silky-shimmering seducer, hard glint and soft glow, reflecting its radiance in the rough, scarred surface of ebony scale, tumbling _chink-chink-chink_, gentle playful sound of falling coins that were fortune enough to feed a starving nation. The black Dragon mounted his costly bed with casual ease, but Edward's long observation of the Dragon left him sensitive to the hesitation that meant Roy was tired, the slow movements that showed his pain, the lethargy that denoted melancholia's descent. Battle with the four Knights had wearied his host, saddened him, in ways that Edward simply did not understand.

He was not given much time to contemplate the issue, however; once settled, with a low growl of relief, Roy turned his full, unnerving attention on the Mage. "Your troubles, Fullmetal. I would hear them now, you have vacillated long enough."

"If you are suggesting that I somehow summoned those Knights just to-"

"Mage."

Edward's tirade halted as quickly as it had begun, the firebrand of his anger cooling instantly at _that_ note of impatient knowing in the Dragon's voice. "Th-there has been something," he admitted, shoulders slumping in defeat. Visions of Alphonse clouded his eyes; he hesitated, words inadequate, and faltered. "H-how does one k-kill a Dragon?" he blurted out, hastily.

The clink of tumbling gold announced Roy's shift of position. "..._That_ is what has been preying upon you? Truly now, Fullmetal?"

The Mage chose not to answer; Roy had become remarkably adept at reading falsehoods in his voice, better to feign silent shame than speak.

The Dragon broke the silence. "I...suppose you must know for your book," he said, slowly, and sighed. "It is not a truth I would impart lightly. In faith, there are many proficient in the slaying of Dragons, I would not give them an extra weapon."

Edward thought of the battleground outside, blood and broken flesh and the Dragon lying corpselike, and shuddered. "But is there a different way?" he asked, hiding his shaking hands beneath the voluminous folds of his sleeves. "There...there are old stories that tell of, of a poison so foul-"

Roy interrupted. "Speak you of Dragonsbane?"

Startled by the Dragon's perspicacity, the Mage glanced up to meet a searching pearlescent gaze. "It is not a secret I would have shared," Roy said, seriously. "If I tell you, it must remain here in this room, spoken once and never again, do you understand?"

"I do."

"Then I shall place my trust in your discretion." The Dragon grinned, showing all of his enormous teeth. "Though I believe that I go against common wisdom, conferring such trust upon a wily and tricksome Mage."

Edward scowled and made a sharp gesture with his staff. "Not every story is true, as you so delight in telling me; Dragons do not eat Princesses, Mages do not make it the sole aim of their lives to never speak any word less than a lie. Might you continue?"

Amused, as he always was, by Edward's tartness, Roy chuckled. "I might," he conceded, and curled into a more comfortable position on his gold. "For once, the human legends of Dragonlore have some truth to them; Dragonsbane does exist, and it is deadly to Dragons. In its purest form, it is a thorny plant that grows only in one place, guarded by a rather fearsome set of trolls in the nortthlands. It is believed that these guardians once drove the Dragons out of their mountain ranges through use of Dragonsbane, though it such reasoned intelligence is difficult to believe of the cretinous mounds that today call themselves trolls."

"It is not only Dragons who have suffered a decline with the fading of magics, then?"

"Very perceptive, Fullmetal! No indeed, the trolls of the day are poor, pale shadows of the beasts from whom they descend. Once, trolls were as intelligent as humans, if such a phrase is not a contradiction, and they were capable of almost every hallmark of civilisation. They built cities, you know, great cities hewn into mountainsides. The dwarfs would have it that they are the master miners of this world, but even their most magnificent halls could not rival the troll caves of the north. Regardless of how they have declined, however, the fact remains that they have jealously-guarded their secrets, locked deep within the earth's darkness, and the growing of Dragonsbane is one of the few troll mysteries to remain unsolved."

Edward found himself leaning forwards, curiosity overtaking his guilt at having lied so completely. "And its effects?"

"Devastating." Roy shook his head, grumbling low in his throat. "I have not seen it used, I pray that I never will, but Dragon lore states that it has only to brush against a Dragon's wounds for a heartbeat to taint his blood. Once he has been poisoned, even the strongest Dragon must succumb to the plant; it contains within its leaves the purest opposition to a Dragon's natural magics."

"Then it works by antithesis?" At the Dragon's nod, Edward paused to consider what he had just been told. "'For every magical energy, there is an opposite power, contrary in every absolute, and should they ever meet, they shall be equally doomed.' That's Harlath Ressylion's first principal of magic; when he founded the first Order of Mages, that fact was written into the heart of every Amestrian spellcaster, but surely it does not hold such power as to command life and death?"

Roy's tongue flickered between his lips as he tasted the air, thoughtfully. "Ressylion was the first Mage?"

"The first to call himself 'Mage', at least."

"Then you should honour your ancestor, Fullmetal, he is right in every particular. Unwrought magic, such as flows in a Dragon's veins or Dragonsbane leaves, is the purest and simplest energy. Base magics lack the mongrel strength of the magics you cast, woven, forged or sculpted. They have only their own strengths and weaknesses, and the clash of opposite magics must always destroy each participant."

An image, unbidden, sprang to Edward's mind; his little brother's gauntleted hands, stained brackish black with troll-blood, clasped reverentially about a thorny purple-green plant...Winry's hands moving to cover Alphonse's, an unspoken promise...His brother's sword, the sword Edward had been proud to enchant for him, the sword that could be so easily remade with any magical enhancement that Alphonse might need...Suddenly chilled, the Mage shivered where he sat; would Dragonsbane have a chance to prove its potency? Would he, could he, watch his little brother murder his lonely Dragon, for love and love alone?

Thus engrossed in his own musings, Edward did not notice that Roy was moving until a tailtip tapped him, gently, causing him to start and glance at the Dragon; a taloned forepaw gestured, lazily, to the tempting expanse of Roy's side. "I have warmth enough to share, if you are cold?" the Dragon said, the merest hint of a question in his tone. Grateful of the diversion from his dark thoughts, Edward hastily stood and scrambled up the heap of gold, with considerably less graceful ease than his host, and settled against the furnace-heat of the Dragon's skin. Roy curled his head around to lay a few feet away from Edward, curling protectively up around the Mage.

Wyrm and wizard regarded one another. The fierce, craggy bluntness of the Dragon's face, once so alien and terrifying, was now as familiar to Edward as a casting circle. Wicked fangs glinting in the loww light were no longer a cause for fear, neither was the hot brush of the Dragon's sulphurous breath. The rise and fall of Roy's gigantic chest, burning into the Mage's back, was as commonplace as Edward's own rhythmic breathing; the Dragon's slow, somniferous heartbeat no longer resembled the thudding of war drums, and the otherwordly glimmer of pearly eyes held more memories than mysteries. Edward wondered what the Dragon read in his features, if he had become familiar to the beast as it had become to him.

Roy smiled, suddenly, baring all of his once-frightening teeth. "The thought occurs, that there are yet more tales I have been loathe to reveal to you," he said, apropos of nothing. "As you appear in need of some entertainment, shall I tell you how exactly I came to be a flightless ground-crawler?"

"..."

"Ah, how easily I can bamboozle you. Perhaps you are not interested, after all?"

"No, no, I, I am-" Edward stammered, words tumbling over themselves in his eagerness. "That is, I am very interested to know. It seems inconceivable that so mighty a creature could..." The Mage's voice faltered. Roy, however, demonstrated how familiar Edward had indeed become to him by flicking a wing half-open, causing the silver chains to tinkle, sweet as fairy-bells.

"Just so. Often you have found yourself beginning to ask the question, I think, and halted yourself. I appreciate your restraint, Fullmetal, the weight of curiosity hangs heavy on your insatiable mind."

Edward shifted, uncomfortably, and the Dragon chuffed a laugh. "I have the truth of it, then? You wear your emotions honestly, child, it shall be your downfall; but it is _my_ downfall we are now to discuss. It began, oh, lifetimes ago, when I was young...Listen closely, young Mage..."

* * *

_Surely there was no greater pleasure than the sun on your wings._

_Roy turned his snout to the bright glare of the bitter noonday sun, half-closing his eyes and fanning out his wings to catch the light on obsidian scale. There was a brilliant fire burning in his belly, joyous and restless as birdsong, and, though he did not know its meaning, he was sure that nothing could stop him discovering it._

"_It is a source of constant surprise to me that your head has not swelled enough to keep you grounded," came a good-natured grumble, and Roy grinned._

"_My wings are strong enough to bear the weight of any ego, Jean, perhaps even yours."_

_The smoke Dragon laughed, rough as rockfall, and batted the fire Dragon with a grey tailtip. "May the flame of that falsehood burn long in your gut, brother."_

"_With yourself as constant comparison, brother? I am assured that my superiority shall ever be apparent."_

_Before Jean could requite Roy's insolence, a high, piercing cry snatched the attention of both males; it was the call of a solitary female, an intruder into the territory of their birth-mountain. Roy caught Jean's eye, read the same eagerness as coiled inside him, and as one, the two Dragons launched themselves into the air, wings beating furiously to lift them up into the clouds._

_Roy's shoulders burned with exertion as they climbed; such rapid ascent was incredibly taxing, it was no wonder Dragons would rather drop into flight from a great height. His wingbeats slowed as he rose, however, until he settled into a relaxed glide, tilting his wings to cup the fickle wind. Jean was already ahead of him, swooping in lazy dips and dives; the smog in his blood made him light and sinuous, he curled in the air like smoke itself, and his lack of bulk compared to his fire-breathing brother gave him unmistakable superiority in speed._

_Roy did not muse on his brother overlong; instead, he opened his mouth wide to bugle his own call across the sky, deeper and more aggressive than the stranger's cry. It was a warning and a welcome that Jean echoed in his deeper, harsher roar._

_They did not have to wait long for a reply. Roy banked into a long, graceful curve when the female replied, much closer now, close enough that he could hear her wingbeats. She was a large creature, perhaps larger than himself, but no older. Though the freezing winds that billowed in his wings could not chill him, Roy felt his body shiver. It had been so long since another Dragon had entered their territory, and that had been Maes, not a young, strong female..._

_Jean drew up alongside him, excitement visible in his jerky wingbeats, and Roy found a snarl building his throat, the fire in his belly flaring up before he forced himself to quash it. He had never wanted to hurt his brother before..._

_The shape of the stranger dragon hove into view at that moment, speeding towards them at a fair rate, distracting Roy from his troubling thoughts. It was indeed a female, a great gold-brindle wyvern, sleek and muscular. She raised her fine-boned head to greet them with a trumpeting call, throwing the sharp beauty of her spiked jaw into profile. She was...magnificent._

_Roy bellowed back to her, gouts of flame spilling from his lips in his enthusiasm, and he would have quickened his pace to meet her had the most unexpected thing not happened; in front of him, Jean folded his wings with shocking abruptness, falling into a sudden dive whose momentum he used to fling himself up into the air facing Roy, his jaw opened wide to propel a suffocating, explosive cloud of black smog in Roy's direction._

_Blinded and choking, simultaneously bewildered and enraged by this unprecedented attack, Roy jerked to a hover, sweeping his wings in great horizontal circles as he coughed the vile stuff from his lungs and shook his head to cleanse his burning eyes. The sweeps of his wings slowly cleared the air, and as they did so, he beheld his brother greeting the wyvern with a playful call, pirouetting over her head and looping underneath her as she circled beneath him, displaying his aerial prowess._

Fury_ raged in Roy's veins, mindless, senseless fury, and he howled a challenge at the smoke Dragon, his rival, love for his brother burned up in the fire of his rage. Jean met his challenge with a scream, abandoning his brief courtship to hurl himself at the fire Dragon, the looping coils of his body flattened to shoot him, straight as an arrow, towards his brother._

_The impact knocked Roy backwards, wings flapping furiously as Jean coiled around him, digging massive talons into the black Dragon's hide. Roy seethed, lunging to bite his brother's vulnerable wing, wrenching until the fragile bones crunched in his teeth and Jean wailed, slashing mindlessly at Roy to get free._

_The two males separated, just for a moment, and Roy took the opportunity to dive at his brother, throwing every pound of his bulk into a charge led by white-hot flame; fire could do nothing to a Dragon hatched in a volcano's heart, but Jean snarled as Roy battered into him, spitting glass-shard smog into the black Dragon's eyes. Roy lashed out blindly at the smoke Dragon as they once more tumbled through the air, locked in grim struggle._

_Neither of them could last long. Fighting your equal in the air, driven by the most ferocious anger, exhaustion was a greater threat than your bellowing enemy, and it was exhaustion that caused Jean's head to droop jut as Roy lunged for his throat. The sickening crack of his brother's neck breaking reverberated through the fire Dragon's body, and he felt the writhing, battling mass slump into dead weight, falling still and lifeless in his grip. Blood gushed into his mouth, over his scales, and he relished the satisfying feel of firm flesh, yielding to his might. He was the victor._

_Releasing his grip, Roy watched, with triumph, as the mangled body dropped like a stone beneath him, falling graceless and awkward, without life, nothing of his brother in that corpse._

_With an effort, rage slowly dissipating to leave weariness in its wake, the fire Dragon swooped into a turn, allowing the wind to do the work as he sought his prize. The great female, who had held back during the bloody combat, was flying to meet him, appreciative pride in her fierce amber eyes as she studied him. He puffed himself up, baring bloodstained fangs for her inspection, and she growled delightedly as she drew up alongside him. "I am the Hawk's-Eye," she said, savage in her exultation at having inspired so brutal a fight for her affection. "I am your mate."_

* * *

"You killed your own _brother_?"

Roy's eyes were misty with recollection, with regret. "He would have killed me, had I faltered," he said, not meeting Edward's horrified gaze. "For all of our intelligence, Fullmetal, we Dragons are still beasts. You remember that I told you male Dragons cannot live together for long? Jean and I had grown from kits to jacks together, matured together, and we initiated our adulthood with a mating fight. That is normal, for us."

"But...but your brother..." Edward repeated, utterly bewildered. "You...you said that you loved him! That you were the closest Dragons could be!"

"And so we were, but we were also slaves to our natures. I could no more have turned from that fight than you could escape your demon. When that beautiful, terrible creature flew into our land that day..." Roy paused, and when he spoke again, his voice _ached_ with loneliness. "My glorious Hawkeye..."

Edward, moved despite himself, stroked the Dragon's side. "What was she like?"

"Never a fairer, or more formidable creature, ever stood upon this earth. She shone like the sun, my wyvern, she outshone the moon and burned brighter than any volcano's heart...And she broke apart my world when she died."

* * *

"_Pitiful, useless creature," the malevolent voice sneered, but Roy did not hear it; his mate, his golden mate, his starbright one, lay limp on the ground. Blood covered her dulled hide, lewd in is shocking redness, scarlet on gold, and the black Dragon hunched over her, gathering the body up in his claws to press to his chest. Hawkeye's head lolled as he lifted her, once-radiant eyes dim in death. The bulge of her egg-laden stomach, her prized clutch of their babies who must now perish inside their mother's corpse, pressed obscenely against Roy's underbelly, and he bowed his head over his dead love, knowing not even anger, only despair, only crushing blackness._

_The Sorcerer laughed. "And now, oh fallen one," he sneered, to the unmoving hulk of the fire Dragon, hunched protectively over his lifeless, pregnant mate. "Now, you shall become mine."_

* * *

Evil cliffy! The full story of Hawkeye's death will be revealed in the next chapter, which will hopefully be before Christmas.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_.

Merry Christmas, dear readers! All the best of the season to you :)

* * *

"A Sorceror? But there has not been so dark a power on the land for-"

"Fullmetal," Roy interrupted, amusement colouring his tone. "Might I be permitted to continue my own story?"

Edward frowned. "But a _Sorceror_, Roy, wildcasters have long since faded into legend, no man has sought to command the wildmagics for hundreds of years!"

"Then you will appreciate the length of my memory. May I go on?"

* * *

_The sun on his wings, an older sun, still as bright as it had been fifty years ago on that fateful day...Roy allowed himself a joyous bugle as he sped through the air, several fresh kills clutched in his talons; he had satisfied his own hunger and now bore the finest trophies of the hunt to his mate, rendered earthbound by the mighty clutch of eggs that swelled her belly. The golden wyvern had built a fine shimmering nest for their little ones in the years of their gestation, glittering spoils from raids of the dwarf mines, and Roy tended to her with fierce pride. Hawkeye had grown particularly restless and irritable in recent days, retreating to her inner sanctum and snarling a vicious promise to savage him if he drew near; she was soon to lay. His kits, with all the impatience of fire Dragons, clamoured for their birth._

_The shimmer of golden light across the glassy surface of a lake, thousands of feet below, caught Roy's eye as sure as the glimmer of sunshine on golden scales, and he could not restrain a second happy bark at the thought of his mate, his precious, ferocious Hawkeye and her kits...Stars, he was grown as tiresome as Maes._

_Amused by this thought, Roy dropped gracefully through thinning air, landing perfectly before the massive entrance to their tunnelled mountain home; a honeycomb warren of passages that he and his mate had formed from the living rock, the wyvern's powerful muscles and his flame combined to craft the perfect home. Within a heartbeat, the sense of _wrongness_ overwhelmed him; there was a stranger here, the reeking stench on invasion, the crackle on his nerves of magic used and blood spilled._

_Hawkeye._

_Faster than thought itself, Roy pounded along the tunnels, straining to reach the hatching chamber, throwing every ounce of weight and strength into a thunderous charge that brought him crashing into the heart of his warren, only to hurl himself against a veritable stone wall ad the force of the magic that had been cast shattered over him like the breaking of an ice mountain. He reeled back, his lips drawn back in a snarl as gouts of flame tumbled from his mouth. Gritting his teeth in a growl, Roy willed his battered limbs to move, pushing against the torrent of untamed power with the furious strength of a fully-grown male fire Dragon, protecting his territory. _

_Every muscles trembling with the effort, Roy broke through the raging storm of magical energy, recoiling for a moment as that sense of wrongness intensified, springing to burning life like a forest fire inside him, and then he saw it... _

"_Pitiful, useless creature," a malevolent voice sneered, but Roy did not hear it; his mate, his golden mate, his starbright one, lay limp on the ground. Blood covered her dulled hide, lewd in is shocking redness, scarlet on gold, and the black Dragon hunched over her, gathering the body up in his claws to press to his chest. Hawkeye's head lolled as he lifted her, once-radiant eyes dim in death. The bulge of her egg-laden stomach, her prized clutch of their babies who must now perish inside their mother's corpse, pressed obscenely against Roy's underbelly, and he bowed his head over his dead love, knowing not even anger, only despair, only crushing blackness._

_The owner of that malicious voice laughed. "And now, oh fallen one," he sneered, to the unmoving hulk of the fire Dragon, hunched protectively over his lifeless, pregnant mate. "Now, you shall become mine."_

_Roy nuzzled his mate's cold cheek, closing his eyes against her beautiful scales. "Hawkeye," he whispered, helplessly._

"_Come, Dragon, will you not revenge her death? This meekness is unbecoming of so fine a beast of flame!" the voice taunted, igniting the smouldering embers of Roy's anger, and the Dragon raised his head to pinpoint it._

_At the far side of the hatching chamber, his burgundy robes and hazel-bright hair being tossed by unearthly winds, stood a human. He was tall, by human standards, though a pitiful insect next to the Dragon's bulk. A cruel, triumphant sneer twisted his face like a crack in the ice, and he held a glowing staff in his hands. Large eyes, shining as golden as the dead wyvern's hide, burned with wildmagic. "What manner of monster are you," Roy growled, moving to lay Hawkeye upon the ground with tender care. He stepped over her, drawing himself up to his full height, wings spread wide, and glaring down at the tiny man._

_His enemy was undaunted. Leaning casually on his staff, the human ran a calculating gaze over him, measuring him up. "You will call me 'master' in time, Dragon, but it is only polite to introduce oneself to one's, aha, 'host'. I am a Sorcerer," he said, dropping into a mocking bow. "Breigaw Ressylion is my name."_

* * *

"Re- Re- Ress-"

"Yes, Fullmetal, Ressylion, ancestor of the man who founded the Ressylion Order of High Archmages. Contain yourself, or we shall never finish this tale."

"..."

* * *

"_Breigaw Ressylion," Roy snarled, tail lashing, claws grinding the rock beneath his feet. "May those words be your last in this life!"_

_With that, the Dragon reared up, jaws gaping, and thundered white-hot flames down upon the Sorcerer. As he did so, he threw himself bodily on in the wizard, wailing his grief and rage as he charged his mate's killer._

* * *

"There is little to tell of the battle," Roy said, after a moment of consideration. "It would have been legend, had any witnessed it; we destroyed the entire mountain, you know. By the time I collapsed, weak from exhaustion and the terrible wounds Ressylion inflicted, that stone giant was mere rubble around us. As I lay, barely strong enough to breathe, the Sorcerer wove a spell of entrapment on my body and heart, imprisoning my mind, my will, and holding it captive to his own. He forced me into a deep sleep, and when I awoke, though my body was hale and hearty again, I could not even move without his instruction. I ate when he commanded, slept when he commanded, walked, flew, flamed just as he ordered. A puppet upon his strings."

The Dragon paused. Edward, utterly appalled, stroked warm scale once more. "He used your despair," he said, quietly. "Spun a charm to blind your attacks, subordinate your intelligence to base animal fury; that is why he k- killed..."

"Indeed. And once defeated, I relinquished my freedom to him, his right as victor." Roy's voice was bitter as he spoke, venomous with hatred. "A _pet_. He rode me, with leather reins from my mouth as if I were nothing more than a _horse, _a brainless, unthinking creature of burden. He used my fire to lay waste to hundreds of settlements, burning homes and families to bring their rulers under his yoke. And I could not but obey; you see, Mage, what part I played in the downfall of my species? From whence comes the myth of the evil Dragon, bent solely on destruction? I and my sin bear much of the responsibility."

"No!" Edward cried, leaping to his feet in a surge of indignant energy. "From the Sorcerer who stole your mind! Your only sin was to lose a battle you could not even hope to win!"

Roy's lips quirked at the outburst, something of a half-smile. "You have a compassionate heart," he said, softly, causing the Mage to blush and shuffle. "But the guilt is mine to bear, a burden of conscience that Ressylion took from me, and that I carry that I might know I am better than the monster he made of me."

Quashing the urge to argue this poinnt with difficulty, Edward allowed himself to sink back down against the Dragon. "And the chains? The castle?"

"Holding a Dragon's mind in your palm is no easy task," Roy responded, his massive body shifting as he made himself more comfortable. "Eventually, with so much of the land falling under his wicked rule, the Sorcerer could no longer devote his mental, magical and physical strength to containing me. Instead, he made me custodian of this castle and its people; he had me fly to this place, drew pints of my blood, and mixed it with the finest silver his wretched citizens could produce. Then he cut into my-" the Dragon's voice faltered; metal chimed on metal once more as he shifted. Edward leaned forwards, the final mystery of the mighty fire Dragon clamouring to be solved.

"He bound my wings with silver chains," Roy concluded, shortly, and with little ceremony, as casually as one might announce the sighting of a butterfly. "What better way to contain a Dragon than taking away his reason for existence? Without flight, and with no bridge strong enough to bear my weight, I could not escape this place, though my mind was now as free as a bird. The presence of a monstrous, fire-breathing brute kept the lord and lady of the castle firmly under the Sorcerer's yoke. Until, that is, they liberated themselves from him with a bravery I cannot even conceive of."

Here, Roy closed his eyes, perhaps seeing again the bravery of the castle's people. "The lord and his lady cast themselves into the volcano's heart, that they might save themselves from Ressylion's tyranny, and their entire household fled under the cover of night." The Dragon snorted. " And I felt little enough inclination to stop them. Following their escape, year upon year I wasted away here, dully responding to my body's demands for nourishment when the cart arrived from the nearest village; it is the Sorcerer's contract that still holds that village to its task, hence our visits from the carter. It has been so many years that to serve the Dragon of the castle is a tradition the people are proud of, and they will take none of my stolen treasures as payment."

"That...certainly explains the fellow's attitude." Edward's brow furrowed as the Dragon gave a wry chuckle, and he tapped Roy's side to catch his attention. "What happened to him? The Sorcerer?" he asked, tentatively. There had been nothing of such power in Amestris for countless decades, far beyond the reaches of current memory.

The Dragon's lips twitched back from his teeth, more snarl than smile. "He died," Roy said, and suddenly, Edward understood.

There is a myth about Sorcerers; that with their final rattling breath, as their life force fades, every enchantment, every spell they have ever cast unravels itself, becomes unwrought raw magic once more. It is a wonderful notion, worthy of all the oldest tales, but it is, alas, a myth. No wonder those terrible rings still shone on the Dragon's back. Iron would bind a Fairy or a Kelpie, copper might tempt a Dryad, but it took the purest silver to ensnare a Dragon. For, though they loved gold, Dragons were creatures of the Moon's pale delicacy and no Sorcerer worth his salt would try a metal more mundane.

"It gratifies me, Fullmetal, that you have no knowledge of my terrible enemy. He has been...so reduced, he who once walked the world as lord conqueror, his name worn away by the relentless passage of time. That is justice, of a kind."

Edward gritted his teeth. "If I could face him today," he said, his voice low with menace. "I'd beat the living daylights out of him, snap his staff, and stuff him in a cellar with chains upon his every inch."

"I should like to see that," Roy remarked, gently, and nudged the Mage with his nose. "You would find him a most terrible opponent, Quicksilver wizard, but I fear your star burns brighter than his ever did."

Quashing the emotion that threatened to swamp him at the Dragon's words, Edward laid a tentative hand on the softer scales of Roy's snout, moving his fingers in a hesitant caress. "I bet you say that to all your meals," he joked, weakly.

"Only the snack-sized ones."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO TINY HE COULDN'T BE A MAIN COURSE?"


	18. Chapter 18

Fanart! I am a lucky lucky girl SilverDagger has created an interpretation of Dragon!Roy, possibly in the pre-Sorceror days without chains on his wings, and you can find it here: http:/mikiemynchi(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/Fanart-to-Demus-148130726

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_

Bit of a rushed chapter, this, sorry, I thought I'd better hurry up and give you something before uni starts again and I have no time. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

The night before the day after.

Edward flipped a golden coin between his hands, tiny chinks issuing as it bounced into his metal palm. His eyes stared sightlessly at the wall, glassy with introspection.

Four and a half months to the day that he and Alphonse had stepped across a magically-formed bridge to enter a Dragon's lair. It was years ago, surely? Surely a lifetime had passed, a lifetime since he had seen his brother's face, heard his high laughter? A lifetime under a Dragon's jealous care, a lifetime with a creature almost as old as the world, a lifetime of learning to read all that was admirable in humanity in a reptilian face, a lifetime to learn every quirk and idiosyncrasy, and he'd only begun to decipher the complex sigils that made up the parchment scroll of his captor and companion.

The Mage muttered a word to make the coin explode into a fluttering cloud of metal dust.

The world outside sang to him, rich and enticing, free and corrupt and dangerous, and so, so achingly close that he could almost taste the air that contained no sulphuric taint, could almost smell the freshness of green grass, could see the outline of the capitol city dominating the skyline in his mind.

Every time he reached for it, he heard a snarl echo in his ears, the fury of the loneliest creature in the world.

He thought about silver chains, delicate as a lady's wrist, that bound an elemental force to the dirt.

Outside, freedom beckoned.

* * *

Edward's last day in the Dragon's castle dawned crisp and chill, a cold sharp enough to penetrate even the mountain's heat. The Mage took time to wash and dress, donning the very best of the clothes in his wardrobe; now that he knew the fates of the previous owners, he could not help but shudder when cool silk touched his skin, cold and impersonal as death, or when the black leather trews tightened over his legs. He even polished his metal arm, bringing it to a bright shine with a healthy amount of elbow grease and only a couple of whispered words. His staff, leaning against the wall, pulsed with energy; he had not used it for a week, instead channelling it to absorb the power of the volcano, and it itched to be used. Strapping leather wrist greaves into place, Edward eyed the staff, thoughtfully. Yes, perhaps it might have power enough…

He made his way through winding halls, pausing at the library to neatly stack his extensive research; he would have to sort it, had meant to sort it, but there was never enough time, and in the last few days, Roy had been increasingly reluctant to let the Mage out of his sight...Edward swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling incredibly constricted. The Dragon had become protective of him, as protective as he had begun to feel about Roy, and the thought of leaving him…But beyond, beyond, away from this lonely mountain with its sulphurous stench of death, was everything of Edward's life…

The Mage put his work aside, deliberately quashing any thoughts of whether he would be alive later to sort it. He hastened to the kitchen, forcing himself to swallow some bread and water. Casting on an empty stomach was almost as ill-advised as summoning a demon, or fighting a Dragon.

* * *

Roy was waiting patiently in the courtyard when Edward finally emerged. Glorious in his size and strength, the magnificent creature sat as still and implacable as a wise and ancient tree. He, too, seemed to have prepared at length; wicked talons gleamed with sharpness, as did the fangs glittering over the edge of Roy's lower lip. The Dragon shone, even in the dim, weak winter's sun, his hide glossy with cleanliness.

Edward halt before him, staff clasped loosely in his hand, and bowed. Roy inclined his head in return, eyes shining with fondness, though when he spoke his deep voice was stern, formal. "Edward of Elric, Fullmetal Mage of the Quicksilver Order and apprentice to the High Mistress Izumi," the Dragon intoned, raising his claw like a magistrate in court. "Four months and twelve days ago, you swore a pact to live under my guard at this castle. You have honoured your contract. I hereby declare my intent to honour my obligations. We shall duel, you and I, until only one stands. If you are the victor, you may go free and take from the castle anything you wish. If I shouls win," Roy paused, the gleam in his eyes flashing sharp, like a blade in the night. "If I should win, you are to remain here eternally. Do we have an agreement?"

"My word is my bond," Edward said, simply; Mages could not but be bound by their word.

"Then it is to be battle," the Dragon said, and lowered his head to better see the Mage. "It has been an honour to argue with you, Fullmetal," he added, softly, and Edward stroked his nose in response.

"Good luck, Roy."

With that, Edward turned and strode away. When he had some distance between himself and the Dragon, he turned back and assumed a defensive stance. Roy clambered deliberately to his paws. He tilted his head to one side, scrutinising the Mage for a good long moment, as if to impress Edward's every feature upon his memory, then threw back his jaw in a characteristic motion. "En guarde, Mage!" he roared, fire glowing about his mouth, and then he _launched _his assault.

Edward was ready. With a word, he halted the progress of the fire, the great surging mass of flame scorching his face as it struggled to break free; with a flick of his wrist, he turned it back upon its sender. Roy batted it aside like dust, nothing but an irritant, and flamed again, this time throwing himself after his fire to charge the wizard. Edward had seen Roy fight enough times to know the pattern of his assault, and he had prepared for this devastating move; touching a hand to one of his greaves, he ignited the sigil there enscribed and, with a great effort of his magic, blasted the oncoming inferno with a billowing torrent of ice. Roy screeched as it hit him, landing with a bone-shattering thud to the ground and countering the attack with a wild spray of flame that had Edward running for cover.

So far, so good. Edward crouched in one of the many doorways about the courtyard, mentally assessing his position. He needed, ideally, to be above the Dragon to cast his killer spell, but he could not afford to waste energy on levitation. He would simply have to let the Dragon put him in position.

He peeked out of his cover. Roy was snarling as he cuffed at his frost-encrusted eyes, but it didn't take him long to clear them, or to sniff out Edward's hiding-place. As he did so, Edward sank to his knees, slamming a hand on the floor and barking an incantation. The rock responded instantly and a vast crask appeared, splintering with lightning speed towards the Dragon, immense spikes of rock flying up to impale him.

Roy hissed in alarm, rearing up onto his hind legs, and flamed. White-hot fire engulfed Edward's spikes, melting those nearest, but the Mage did not halt the spell. The solid rock continued to attack, forcing Roy backwards and away from Edward, only now it was tipped with the red-hot glow of the Dragon's deadly fire.

Cornered, the Dragon swung his massive muscular body around, yelping as a spike burrowed with deadly accuracy in his haunches, and crouched low. A second chunk of rock lodged itself in his tail, splitting flesh from bone with enough power to make Edward flinch, momentarily halting his casting

A moment was all Roy needed. With an almighty roar, the Dragon sprang from his crouch into a leap, bunched muscles propelling him upwards; he hit the castle walls with a great grinding and screeching of claws and scale against stone. The impact was enough to set Edward's teeth a-quiver, and to send him tottering out of cover. Roy, who was gripping the protesting stone like a horrific caricature of a squirrel, then pushed off, twisting in the air with all the grace of one of the wind's children, and crashed inelegantly to the ground over Edward, who was flung helplessly onto his back one giant paw either side of the Mage, the Dragon's maw mere feet from him.

How fitting, that it should end like this, in the same position as the whole thing began.

"My…victory…" Roy panted, hot breath washing over Edward. "Yield."

Edward drew up his staff, clasping it in both hands and waking the stored energy with a single touch of his mind. "Not yet!" he shouted, throwing caution to the wind, and released the spell within.

Rosefire, red-stained light of the purest Quicksilver magic, drowned the Dragon's surprised roar as swiftly as it encased him. Edward stood as the Dragon staggered back, holding the staff forth and chanting the words he had written only the night before, new words, words forged from the fresh coals of his own ingenuity, a new magical language like that his father crafted, every letter a part of his own soul. Roy keened as it enveloped him, the mighty Dragon stumbling, falling, helpless against this manifestation of the purest, strongest magical power.

The purest energy burns up the fastest. Tiredness suddenly overwhelmed Edward, crushed him as surely as any Dragon's fire, and he fell to his knees, the spell halting as quickly as it had begun. His staff, cold and dead, clattered hollowly to the ground, followed by the great hulk of the Dragon. Roy's eyes were open, however, unpained, and he was wearing an expression of the deepest confusion.

Edward smiled, wearily. "Open your wings," he said, simply.

Scale on scale, shifting. A pained groan; those muscles had not moved for centuries. And, sweetest of all, the most beautiful sound in the world, the soft, chiming tinkle of silver chains, falling to the ground. Roy surged to his feet, pearlescent eyes bulging as his wings unfolded fully over his back, enormous and grand and magnificent, completing him for the first time in the months that Edward had known. "This is what I claim," Edward said, pride exploding inside him, tears dripping from his smiling eyes. "I claim your freedom, Dragon, as wholly as I claim my own."

The Dragon gaped at him, stupidly, clearly unable to believe. To undo a Sorceror's enchantment was no easy thing; Edward had poured every ounce of himself into that spell, every mote of love and compassion, hate and genius and arrogance and spite, every moment when he had seen Roy wince at his dark memories, the sadness in Maes' eyes, his own anguish at the cruelty of what had been done…And the result now unfurled before him, Roy's wings, free at last.

With a bark of happiness, Roy started forwards, stretching out a claw; Edward braced himself, a delicious coil of anticipation sparking in his belly- this was it, Dragonflight, the culmination of all of his efforts…But Roy halted, with a grunt, dropping to all fours, his wings drooping.

Edward gaped in shocked horror. Protruding from Roy's chest, piercing his heart with the deadliest poison known to Dragonkind, was Alphonse's sword. His brother had come, and he had brought Dragonsbane.

And Roy would die, just as he spread his wings to fly.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist._

Oh, I am incredibly lucky; another lovely person has conjured up a rather sweet rendition Dragon!Roy bending his head to Mage!Ed. I highly recommend it: http:/annalwagner(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/Dragon-for-Demus-151188703

* * *

"Oh stars. Oh, stars, no!"

Edward raised his hands, hurriedly chanting a spell to soften the Dragon's fall; the last glittering motes of magic shimmering dull, like the reflected light from a dirty coin, and flickered out. Roy crashed to the ground, the behemoth fallen, wings crumpling beneath him, and lay still.

Powerless, now, utterly exhausted, Edward staggered to his feet, tears burning, blinding in his eyes, and ran, stumbling, to the Dragon's side. Pearl-eyes were barely open, the black pupil slit narrow as Roy struggled to focus. Blood, brackish-black with poison, gushed from the Dragon's heaving chest, slicking the ground, coating Edward's robes as he knelt in the filth beside his friend. Trembling hands settled on the softer scales of Roy's nose and the Dragon coughed, yet more blood dribbling between curved fangs to cover his jaw.

"I…am felled, Mage," Roy gasped, in between pained growls. His claws twitched, skin rippling as he tried to move, and drooped, lifeless. "Y-you…" he began, then his words disappeared into an agonized whine. Edward shushed him, stroking nerveless hands over Roy's snout, trying to soothe him. The bright metal of his right hand gleamed, a mocking parody of his failed spell.

"Do not speak," the Mage said, voice unsteady. "You must not waste your strength, I have only to remove this sword and you sh-shall-"

Burning tears erupted into sobs without warning, choking Edward's speech, and he dashed angrily at his eyes, breath shattering in his throat even as he tried to suppress his sobs. Under his hands, Roy's skin moved with the slight curling of the Dragon's lips. "I will…leave…one mourner…at…least," the Dragon managed to croak out, his eyes sliding closed.

Urgency gripped Edward by the stomach, wrenched in his gut, and he pounded his fist against the Dragon's scales. "No! No, you can't just die! It's not-"

"Fair?" Roy interrupted, the deep bass of his voice a mere whisper, hissed between teeth that were already beginning to clench with death. "Ever…hopeful, Edward…Fare you…well."

The mighty black head lolled back, pitiful magnificence in the dust, and Edward bowed his head. "Roy," he said softly, pleadingly. "Roy,"

"Brother!"

The last _thudthudthud_ of approaching feet, the clank of armour, large, familiar hands yanking him to his feet, and his cheek was pressed to frigid armour, strong arms crushing him in an embrace he knew as well as the rush of his own breathing. "Brother," Alphonse said, tears in his voice. "Oh, brother, you're _alive_."

"Al," the Mage sniffed, his right hand screeched as he curled it into a fist on his brother's armour. "Al, he's dead. He's, he's dead, and all he wanted was to fly again, but now he's dead."

Stillness. The tiniest slackening of the muscles about him, stillness that told of horror. "Oh stars," Alphonse breathed, into his hair. "The beast, it- it wasn't attacking?"

In a moment, Edward knew; all the Knight had seen was the maddened rush of a monster on his defenceless brother, the unstoppable, deadly force of a beast unleashed, and he'd acted with the speed that had saved both of their lives so many times. "He just wanted to fly," the Mage repeated, numbly, staring past the metal chest he was pressed to and gazing at the unmoving form of his friend.

"Then…why do you hesitate? Dragonsbane does not kill instantly, you could recall him, like you did with-"

"Even…even if I hadn't exhausted my magical resources…it would take…" the Mage broke off, his voice stuttering to silence as he pressed his forehead to the cold breastplate. "It would take an _army_…"

"An army, like the battalion of battle-casters I brought with me?"

For a moment, Edward didn't move, didn't even breathe. Then, slowly, infinitesimally slowly, the bright-gold head lifted, and he met his brother's gaze. "Battle-casters."

"Yes."

"You brought battle-casters."

"Uh-huh."

"You…" Edward paused, unable to wrap his considerable mind around the concept. "You came to my rescue with a hired squadron of mercenary combat Mages."

"Yes."

Alphonse ducked as his big brother swung at his head with his steel arm. "What, you thought I couldn't handle it by myself?" the Fullmetal Mage shrieked, indignant.

Laughing, the Knight grabbed at his brother's wrists and hoisted them above his head, grateful, once again, for his greater height as Edward struggled helplessly. "Regardless of your injured pride, brother, there is an entire battalion of fit, trained Mages, all with their magic reserves full to brimming, all itching to cast, all disciplined to take orders, and all at your disposal."

Edward was silent for a heartbeat, then he yanked his arms free, scrambled away from his brother and sprinted outside, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

* * *

Burning fire, the low crackle of warming flames, and the scratching of a quill pen. The founding Mage of the Hawkeye Cascade, Edward Fullmetal of Elric, paused in his labours to run a critical eye over the text before him.

For nigh-on five years now, he and his fellow Hawkeye Mages had undertaken the painstaking, arduous task of seeking out and communicating with the reclusive Dragons of Amestris, with a hope that they might one day bring Dragons and humans together in fellowship. The Hawkeye Cascade, which now stood officially alongside Quicksilver, Starshade, Turquall, Lytefire and Ressylion as the Sixth Mage Order, was Edward's creation, his life, and it distinguished itself from the others with its particular focus upon Dragon magic and that most dangerous, lost force; wildmagic.

Progress was slow. Long years offered little reward for seemingly-endless toil. Of the many Dragons living about Amestris alone, only two had been receptive to their overtures, and these were lesser, baser beasts, more like animals than humans, and nothing at all like that one particular Dragon… Edward's eyes strayed to his official seal, the stamp of a Dragon reared onto its hind legs, wings spread, a gout of flame spilling from its lips. He sealed his letters with black wax, always, in that Dragon's honour…

"Edward!"

Frowning at the interruption, the Fullmetal Mage clambered stiffly to his feet, groaning as sleepy muscles protested, and made his way to the window. Outside, dominating even the great space of the Palace of Light's largest courtyard, Roy grinned to see him. "I am bored, Fullmetal one!" the Dragon called, mockingly, as he reared onto his hind legs, reminiscent of his depiction on Edward's seal, and braced his foreclaws on the Mage's tower. "Too long have you spent with your papers, when we have important work to be about. Shall we fly, my liege?"

* * *

I shall not say they lived happily ever after; a fractious wizard and an aggravating dragon never a peaceful union make. Suffice it to say that they _lived_, forever after, in their land far far away, under golden dawns and rainy skies, and the fierce burn of a fairytale sunset.

THE END


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